


A Jesuit's Fortuna

by the_little_owl



Category: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-25
Updated: 2012-02-25
Packaged: 2017-10-31 17:52:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 174,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/346806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_little_owl/pseuds/the_little_owl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Jesuits are the Soldiers of the Lord, guardians of the Catholic belief in the Empire. But sometimes it’s not easy to be a good soldier of the Lord, especially when a very heretic captain of the Swedish army crosses your path.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Believe it or not, but this story is a TPM AR story. It is set in Germany, in November 1632. It’s the Three Musketeers era aka The 30 Years War. 
> 
> ****
> 
> Many thanks to my brave beta reader Tem-ve who stayed with me through this story – a story that became much, much longer than I thought when we hatched this bunny in October 2005 during a lunch in Cologne. Thank you, Tem!
> 
> ****
> 
> Here on AO3, this story is split into 5 parts; to stay true to it's former LJ structure, I kept the headlines of the 40 chapters, in which it was once posted.

# A Jesuit’s Fortuna

#### by The Little Owl

 

 

 

(Artwork by [motetus](http://archiveofourown.org/users/motetus/pseuds/motetus))

 

 

# Chapter 1

When the fog grew thinner towards noon, Benjamin could discern who was on the road in front of him: about forty heavily-laden trade wagons which were accompanied by armed riders, walking people, and cattle of all sorts - cows, sheep, goats. Even pigs and geese were driven through the half-frozen mud.

And mud it was. The road to Naumburg had turned into a wide riverbed of sludge, created by tens of thousands of feet, hooves and carriages.

The trek of sutlers – for due to their good shape, Benjamin was sure that these were merchants and not an army’s train – swam like a small boat on that river.

At first he felt disappointed. For two weeks now he dragged that little brown mule through war-wasted land to meet the Emperor’s army – but, he admonished himself, it could be worse: imagine you’d run into a Saxon army, or the Swedes themselves!

“Come, Sophia!” He tugged at his mule’s reins, “Let’s hurry! … Aw, damn you! I swear, if there are Franciscan brothers too, I’ll ask them to have a word with you!” At the third tug the mule started to trot.

Benjamin waved at the riders at the end of the train, “Gentlemen, please wait for me!”

 

***

 

“The Swedes?” Benjamin almost squeaked with horror.

“Well, who do you think left that trail?” The sutler asked. The snotty-nosed little boy at her side pulled faces at Benjamin.

“Uh, the Imperial army… I thought… they say… the Swedes are still plundering the south!”

“They could hardly stay there, when Wallenstein's conquered their area of retreat,” the sutler replied with a shrug, smug as a seasoned strategist. Maybe she fancied herself to be one, in any case she wore a man’s hat with a ostrich feather.

“And where are the Swedes now?”

She chuckled when the young man looked around as if King Gustavus Adolphus himself was lurking behind the nearest tree, wheel-lock pistols at the ready.

“They say they’re going to spend the winter in Naumburg,” she said cheerfully, “and with General Wallenstein and his Imperialists only a few miles away at Leipzig, there’s either great business this winter for us, or they finally fight it out and end the war.” She clicked at her team of dun oxen.

“So, lad, what about you?” She pointed at Sophia’s saddlebags.

“These are books, unbound yet. I’m taking them to a bookbinder in Leipzig.”

“So you’re a printer?”

“Benjamin Kenneberg, at your service, Madam,” he bowed, and had to hop over a big puddle the next moment. He almost slipped when the mule didn’t follow.

“And what kind of books have you got there?” she asked curiously, frowning. “You 're not smuggling leaflets, are you?”

“No, Madam!” Now the young man was eager to open the saddlebag. He pulled out one stack of pages, neatly wrapped in brown paper and a cord. “They’re on farming and animal care and…”

He stopped dead in his tracks when she laughed out loud. “Farming!” she exclaimed, pointing in a wide gesture at their surroundings where the next burned-down village came into view.

“After the war they’ll be sought after!” The journeyman printer assured her with big pleading eyes.

“When this war is over, there’ll be the next one and so on, until not a peasant and no cow is left alive!” she said with vigour and bowed down a little. “Your books are no business anymore, lad. Stay with me, I can find you a good job in the Swedish army, a regiment’s scribe or an orderly – not fighting, but having an officer who pays for your meals, riding a fine horse instead of pulling that donkey through the mud, how about that?”

Benjamin frowned. He didn’t like the familiar tone of that offer – by a middle-aged woman who still wore red skirts! And the Swedish army…

“No thank you, Madam,” he said, “The Swedes plundered my hometown” – and especially us – “I don’t want to see them again!”

She shrugged. “If it hadn’t been the Swedes, it would have been the Imperialists, who cares.”

I care! Benjamin thought, frowning thunderously at the mere thought of how these foes of God still were wreaking havoc in his hometown. But then he admonished himself not to sulk so obviously, when everyone here was eager to meet the Swedes. He looked at the book he still held in his hand. “I wonder, wouldn’t you like to buy a book nevertheless? Or exchange it for some bread maybe?”

She chuckled. “You’re lucky that you’re such a cute one, lad. I’ll give you a loaf.”

“One loaf?!” Even if this book was nothing but camouflage, it was worth at least one of her oxen! “Two loafs!” he said, “It’s at least about two topics!”

“But what are your two topics good for when you starve on your way to Leipzig?” she retorted. “Wherever the armies went through there’s no farm left where you can ask for food.”

“True.” Benjamin sighed and pretended to think very hard. “All right, one loaf then.”

She nodded at the little boy to climb back into the rear of the wagon.

The child returned with a loaf, staring  with hostility at the young man his mother seemed to like. “There. Take it or leave it. One book!”

“Done,” Benjamin said and exchanged the book for the loaf of bread. “The Lord be with you.” He waved the sutler good-bye and stopped, tore a piece of bread from the loaf, put it into his mouth. The bread wasn’t fresh, but it was edible.

“Hey, boy!” One of the riders called, when Benjamin didn’t follow the wagons. “We won’t wait for you!”

“It’s all right.” He held up the loaf, as if the bread had been his only reason to join the train. The rider shrugged. They had no time to worry for a fool who preferred travelling alone.

Benjamin grinned and watched the wagons head for Naumburg.

It had been a good deal.

Scholasticus Benjamin Kenneberg, ardent student of the Societas Jesu and soon-to-be assistant chaplain in Generalissimus Wallenstein’s Imperial army, considered himself a lucky man: he had been warned in time that the goddamned Swedes were back in Saxony, he had managed to buy enough food for his now longer way to Leipzig, where he was bound to meet his new superior, and he had given just one of the farming books away – books which camouflaged the hundreds of anti-Swedish leaflets his mule carried.

“Come on, Sophia,” he told the mule, “Let’s hurry.”

It was the cold and misty afternoon of the 13th of November in the year of our Lord 1632.

 

 

 

# Chapter 2

As soon as he was out of sight of the main road, Benjamin repacked his saddlebags. He had kept his alb, cincture and rosary ready to hand, but now with the Swedes around it was better to hide them.

He took off the saddle, unfolded the blankets and wrapped his alb, rosary and cincture in them, giving the ankle-length white shirt a resentful look. Father Andreas had assured him that an oversized alb would be good in winter, because one could wear some layers of woollen jackets beneath it, but this thing was ridiculously wide, made for a really fat man. ‘Never mind,’ he told himself. ‘Be grateful that you don’t have a habit to wear, otherwise the sutlers would have set the Swedes on your track in no time.’

He fixed the saddle, thinking about the sutler’s offer to find him a job among the Swedes. Besides his contempt for these foes of God, it stirred another unpleasant feeling in him, something close to jealousy and envy. He could easily imagine himself riding a big dapple-grey Spanish stallion, wearing a cuirass or a buffcoat and the red silk sash of an Imperial officer. 

’ _Envious, are we?_ ’ his devil said, making him think of the Imperial cavalry officers with their wide hats, adorned with ostrich plumes, their jack boots with shining spurs and their fashion of wearing lace collars even on field duty. They looked dashing, he did not. It was pure vanity, a vice as bad as envy, and he really should spend some time in contemplation and ask his father confessor how to be rid of it.

“I’m a soldier of the Lord,” he reprimanded himself and his devil. “I don’t need plumes and silk and all that worldly frippery!”

The devil chuckled. Benjamin imagined him like the shaggy red and black one on the painting in the second but left side chapel of their church back in Mainz. However, Benjamin’s father confessor was of the opinion that Benjamin wasn’t posessed at all. “It’s just the voice of your conscience you’re hearing,” Father Andreas had said. “And be glad that it’s a strong one!”

Only when it came to the devil’s suggestions in the morning, like staying in bed and sinning, the priest would admit that, yes, in this case there was the evil sprit at work. But today, Benjamin told himself, there was no sense in worrying about the devil. He should worry about the Swedes.

He took his pistol out of the saddlebag and stuffed it into his belt.

It was mid-afternoon, and still a misty, grey day when he passed the next looted village on his way. He listened into the fog, squinted his eyes, and it wasn’t only hostile soldiers he was concerned about. For some destitute hungry peasants, his mule would make fine prey too.

He left the path and went across the fields, keeping himself at more than gunshot distance from the ruins. But even outside in the fields lay bodies, prey to the ravens and crows who were hacking with reddened beaks into human meat, croaking angrily at the intruder into their paradise.

Benjamin spoke a hasty prayer and hurried on.

“Hey! You!” A shout made him turn towards the village. “Come here!”

“Lord, help me!” he whispered. It wasn’t a surviving farmer who had called after him, but a rider with a big hat, and behind him in the fog were silhouettes of more riders.

Benjamin cast his mule a sullen glance and tried to hide his weapon under his jacket. A horse, dapple-grey or otherwise, would have smelled its comrades and warned him by its reactions; his mule merely trudged on stoically.

There were only three of them, Benjamin realized when he came closer, but from which army? Or maybe just marauders? His stomach clenched. ‘Trust in the Lord!’

They were a tattered gang on scruffy horses, but they could be regulars just as well as deserters. The first of them wore a cuirass of the Swedish style: only a breastplate and backplate, the second was in a blue jacket and the third was only in a shirt and a vest-like garment made from a blanket. They scowled at him as if he were responsible for the fact that someone else had filled their saddlebags with the farmers’ stocks already.

“Good day, gentlemen,” he said and bowed as a mere journeyman would have done, trusting again in his boyish appearance. “Benjamin Kenneberg, journeyman printer, on my way to the bookbinder in Leipzig. With whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?”

“Shut up!” the cuirassier snapped, and gestured at the shabbiest of his comrades to have a look at the mule.

“What’s in your bags?” They spoke German, but the so-called Swedish army was a bunch of mercenaries as international as the Emperor’s troops: Swedish Scots fought in a German war against Austrian Croats.

“Books, Sir,” Benjamin said, “on farming and animal breeding. It contains a chapter on horse medicine. I’d be honoured to give you a copy.”

The cuirassier snarled with the contempt of the illiterate.

Benjamin was going to open the saddlebags himself, but the shabby rider produced his sword and gestured at him to step away from the mule, which showed the same indifference as before, though it was likely about to change its owner.

As intended, the soldier found Benjamin’s lunch pack first. It contained the bread he had bought in the morning, a harder piece of an older loaf, and the end of a sausage he had intended to be the highlight of his dinner.

The soldier bit into the sausage immediately, his comrade in the blue jacket protested with an angry curse and urged his horse forward in a jump, and Sophia, seeing a beast twice her height rushing at her, squeaked and knocked over the shabby one, while the blue jacket jumped from his sorrel into the fray.

Benjamin ran.

Ducking alongside the startled cuirassier’s horse, he gripped the reins of the shabby soldier’s piebald, jumped onto the horse and kicked its sides to make it run.

To his horror, all it managed was a limping trot before it almost fell, grunting with pain.

Benjamin managed to stay in the saddle. He turned at the sound of a horse in full run, producing his gun, only to see the cuirassier right behind him, swinging his wheellock pistol like a club.

He barely managed to fire his weapon before the strike flung him from the horse. Benjamin fell between stomping hooves, into pain and darkness.

When he could see and feel again, the world was swaying and he felt nauseous. He sat propped up against a fence, his hands bound behind his back. The cuirassier stood right beside him, unharmed and eating his bread, Sophia was grazing on the other side of the small path, and the other soldiers were rummaging through his saddlebags, obviously hoping for more food. Package after package of paper was thrown into the mud, but Benjamin wasn’t angry with them, as long as they didn’t bother to rip the cords off and look what the packages really contained.

When the shabby one started to tug at the blankets under Sophia’s pack saddle, Benjamin couldn’t fight back a groan.

“Awake?” the cuirassier asked with stuffed cheeks and gave him a grin. Benjamin nodded and gasped, both with headache and fear.

The saddle came off, as did the blankets, and when the shabby one unfolded one blanket to make it a cape, Benjamin’s alb and cincture fell onto the ground, as did his rosary.

For a moment all four men stared at the amber beads and the white linen.

“Damn you!”

Benjamin stared at them, and his panic was genuine when the blue jacket pulled his dagger. He had only one attempt. “It isn’t mine!” he shouted, “I swear, I found it! I wanted to find a tailor to make me a shirt from it! It doesn’t even fit me!”

“And what’s that!” The blue jacket hurled the rosary at Benjamin’s face.

“It came with the thing… I swear…” The knife at his throat made him go silent. So now he knew that these soldiers were not of his confession.

“Well, we’ll see.” The cuirassier grinned at him and showed two rows of blackish teeth. He took his comrade’s knife and cut the rope that held Benjamin’s hands: “Put it on!”

“But give me your jackets first!” The shabby one haved another dagger about. “Hurry up!”

Benjamin pulled himself upright at the fence, squinting to fight the vertigo. To weak to fight, he stripped down to the shirt and the shabby soldier snatched his jackets immediately and put them on, grinning happily. They were too short for him, but emaciated as he was they fit at his shoulders.

He gave Benjamin the alb. “What kind of priest are you?”

“I am no clergyman.” It hurt to deny his own Order. Benjamin felt like Saint Peter denying Jesus, but he would do anything to survive. Maybe he wasn’t a good soldier of the Lord at all.

“Never mind. Put it on.”

‘Lord help me! Lord help me, and thank you for making Father Andreas give me this horse blanket of an alb!’

He put it on, this time not ashamed that he looked in it like a little boy in his father’s clothes. He stretched out his arms, but the sleeves still covered his hands and hung from his fingertips.

The soldiers laughed.

“That’s a ghost of a priest!” the jacket-thief cackled.

“No, I think that _will_ be a ghost of a priest,” the soldier in the blue jacket said, browsing through a package of paper – unfortunately one of those with the leaflets. He grinned, pulled some pages out and showed them to the cuirassier. “Look! Isn’t that meant to be our king? Drinking beer with the devil and riding on… who’s that?”

Benjamin hung his head. “I don’t know.” Of course, he knew: it was Johann Georg, Elector and Duke of Saxony, the same who had left the alliance with the Emperor to join the Swedes. In an attempt to drive a wedge into the new alliance, the leaflets denounced the devastation the Swedes caused in Saxony, treating its Duke like a mere mount.

“Well, well…” The cuirassier grinned at him, “So you ‘found’ that robe and you don’t know that some bad guy put that goddamned Jesuit propaganda into your saddlebags, hey? Maybe you ‘found’ that mule too?”

Benjamin looked up at him, hope growing, only to be crushed.

“Now, lad, tell me, do you want to be hanged for being popish, for the leaflets, or for theft?” The cuirassier’s grin grew into a nasty smirk.

“Hey, here are some more!” The shabby one delightedly waved some pages about, “With naked gals!”

“That’s Fortuna,” Benjamin sighed, “an ancient goddess of luck.” She adorned the first page of the books on farming.

The cuirassier laughed wholeheartedly. “You’ll need her now, I’d say. Kneel down!”

“Please let me go!” Benjamin begged. “I swear, I didn’t know about the leaflets…”

“So you’re not paying attention to what you’re printing?” the blue jacket sneered, “We should hang you for being such a bad printer too!”

As if on cue, the three soldiers jumped on him to bind him. Benjamin fought. He even managed to knock down the one in the blue jacket, but then he was face down in the mud, and the cuirassier knelt on his back, forced his arms back and tied them with his cincture.

“Oh God! Don’t, I beg you!” Benjamin screamed in panic. “Please, let me go! Please, I’ll join your army, I’ll be your servant, I’ll do everything, but please let me go!”

“Bad luck that the greatest fun is to see you hang!”

The shabby soldier brought a long rope from his saddle. They didn’t bother with a hangman’s noose but simply pulled one end of the rope around Benjamin’s neck and tied it off with a knot. They dragged him into the nearest garden, under a walnut tree, and threw the rope over a branch.

Benjamin’s knees gave out. He tried to pray. A good Jesuit would die upright as a martyr, but he screamed in anguish as the rope tightened when the men started to pull. “Let’s make him dance!”

The rope jerked him back, hit his throat like a blow. Benjamin’s scream for mercy ended in a choke, and pain shot through his temples. Panicking, he fought to scramble to his feet. His  tormentors jeered, “Come, little angel, fly for us!” He barely heard them. They pulled him up. The moment he managed to stand, there was a slack in the rope, just for an instant, and he gasped for air, swaying and nauseous. His head hurt as if it was about to burst. And then they pulled again, and he knew there was nowhere to go but up and dying. God! All he wished for was to be home, a little boy again, hiding behind his mother.

“What the hell is going on here!”

The roar made the soldiers let go of the rope, and Benjamin, who had been on the tips of his toes, fell on his face, fighting for breath. Even breathing set his throat on fire. But, thanks be to God, he could breathe!

“Ah… why, Captain, we caught a Catholic priest with saddlebags full of leaflets that mock the King!” the cuirassier said, then barked at his comrades, “Hurry! Get them!”

Benjamin forced himself to turn to his side and look up. Outside the garden stood a detachment of riders, led by an officer with a light blue sash.

The officer made his horse jump over the fence and trot into the garden.

He rode a huge Friesian stallion, black as the devil himself, and if Benjamin hadn’t known that the Swedish king was a blond and rather fat man, he’d have thought that this officer was the man the Protestants called the “Lion of the North”. The officer was very tall, wore – unlike the king – his brown hair in a long mane, and he radiated authority and danger. One piercing look from his blue eyes, and Benjamin knew that were would be no mercy from this one either.

The blue jacket returned with both hands full of crumpled paper and Benjamin’s rosary. “Leaflets, Captain, showing the king in the devil’s company!” he said assiduously, “and other ones with pagan nudes! Though that bastard said they’re about healing horses!”

The captain stuffed the rosary into his belt, smoothed out some pages, had a look at the leaflet and snorted. “Portrays the Saxon Elector quite well,” he said, frowned at the naked Fortuna, and browsed the next pages.

“Do you really have copies of that book?” he asked Benjamin.

“Yes,” Benjamin rasped, “six co…pies.”  He pushed himself up into something close to sitting. His trousers clung wet and warm to his skin.

“Get me one!” the captain told the blue jacket with an angry growl. “Pagan nudes, you ass! Never seen a dedication page? This one really is about animal diseases!”

The blue jacket ran.

The officer turned towards Ben. “What’s your name and where are you from?”

“Benjamin Kenneberg. I’m from…” Benjamin cursed himself when his voice ended in a rough croak, and he tried in vain to swallow and cough again. He cast the captain a pleading look, but the officer had to read his lips to understand his hometown.

“He pretended to be a journeyman printer taking books to Leipzig,” the cuirassier said. “But he had a pistol,” he presented the evidence, “and then we found that cassock under his saddle. Though he doesn’t fill it, we thought it’s safer to hang him anyway. Imagine this one a Jesuit or worse!”

“What’s worse than a Jesuit?” the captain snorted and scrutinized Benjamin. “Stand up, man!”

With his hands bound behind his back and his knees feeling like jelly, Benjamin didn’t manage to get on his feet. The cuirassier pulled him up by his hair. It hurt badly and made him scream, and when he realized that he had pissed himself for all to see, he wished the captain would shoot him right between the eyes to end this agony.

But all the captain did was to screw up his nose and watch him, as if he could assess only by his features whether Benjamin was a liar or not.

The blue jacket returned, bowed to the captain. “It’s an awful mess, Sir…” he said in a small voice. “All those pages…” He shrugged.

“Idiot!” snarled the officer, then pointed at Ben. “Set him free and make him collect the pages! Our horses are dying by the dozen every day, and you stomp books on animal care into the dirt!”

Benjamin couldn’t believe his luck when the cincture was cut. He mouthed a thank you, massaging his sore wrists, and staggered to the prints. Sophia was still around, grazing and not caring for the return of her master at all. Luckily Benjamin found a bundle the soldiers hadn’t ripped apart. A few pages were drenched, but it was complete. He smiled with relief when he patted the package against his chest to clean it at least a little.

The captain snapped his fingers, and Benjamin hurried to give him the book. But instead of taking the package, the officer grabbed Benjamin’s wrist in a vice-like grip. He took the book, stuffed it between his sash and his buffcoat, then forced open the fist which Benjamin had instinctively clenched.

The officer’s gauntlet gloves must have been obscenely expensive once; now they were worn-out and had darkened a lot. Benjamin couldn’t help thinking it had been blood that had done that.

“Printer’s ink,” the officer said, studying Benjamin’s palm like a Gypsy fortune teller, “is said to be a grimy substance that eats into your skin and doesn’t wash off for a long time.” He looked Benjamin in the eyes, flashing him a smirk, before letting the scared scholasticus go. “Sergeant!”

“Sir?” the sergeant, a sturdy, bearded man on a grey draught horse, responded.

“I want these leaflets burned, and that gown he’s in too. Then give him a dunk in the nearest pond and take him to my tent. And don’t you dare lose a prisoner again, understood?”

“Understood!” The sergeant grinned, as if sharing an old joke with the captain.

The captain turned his horse, gesturing for his riders to follow, and soon Benjamin was left with the sergeant, two of his men, and the formerly shabby soldier with the lame piebald. The cuirassier and the blue jacket hurried to get back to their mounts and follow the detachment.

Benjamin couldn’t believe his luck. He gazed after the retreating riders and suddenly he gasped in relief, a broad smile spreading over his face.

“Don’t get your hopes up too soon, priest!” The sergeant said. “When he’s done with you, you’ll wish you'd been hung from that tree. And now get out of that cloak!”

# Chapter 3

“Stop it for Christ’s sake!”

The next kick sent him flying back into the ice-cold green water. Benjamin fought for air, struggled with the alb to get on his feet again.

“The Captain said to give you a dunk!” The soldiers laughed at his despair, racing their horses through the shallow pond and trying to run the prisoner over.

“A dunk, but not to drown me!” Benjamin ducked. This time he managed to evade the horse without stumbling in the muddy ground beneath the water. He snatched the reins and gave them a sharp tug to stop the horse, hoping the beast would rear up and throw its rider. But the soldier kicked it with his spurs, and with a jump the horse broke free. The soldier's boot hit Benjamin’s shoulder and made him fall again.

When he came up, he looked into the muzzle of a pistol. “Don’t you dare do that again, bastard!”

“Hey! It’s enough! Get him here!” That was the sergeant. He stood next to the bonfire he had made out of Benjamin’s leaflets, warming his hands.

“This way!” The soldier with the pistol gestured Benjamin out of the water with a mock bow.

Bedraggled and shivering, Benjamin staggered to the fire. He tried in vain to warm himself. The wet fabric clung to him like a sheet of ice.

“I told you to have this washed!” The sergeant growled at his men, pointing at the alb Benjamin still wore.

“But for what purpose?” the other rider said. He was a blond youth with a scar on his brow. “The Captain wanted it burned.”

“Rubbish, that’s good linen. Get out of it!”

Benjamin struggled out of the clinging cloth. Everything was fine for him as long as they didn’t try to kill him again.

With an exasperated growl the sergeant scrutinized the alb, which was not only dripping with pond scum, but had a long tear too. Nevertheless, he rolled it into a neat package and tied it behind his saddle.

The soldiers smirked. “Your wife will be delighted about this nightgown, Sergeant…”

“Yes, and I know already who will wash it before she gets it!” the bearded man said, grinning at the cheeky youth. Then he ordered the man in Benjamin’s jackets to bring the rope.

Again Benjamin was bound, and the small detachment left the village: the sergeant led the way, followed by the youth who dragged Benjamin behind him, then the other of the sergeant’s men, and the last one was the thief of Benjamin’s clothes, now riding his mule and leading the piebald by the reins.

They made their way across the fields, heading north, wary of their surroundings, but Benjamin stopped looking around very soon. He hurt too much to take interest in the landscape other than where to put his foot next. His devil was absent too.

While the sergeant kept his men from speeding their horses into a trot, it was exhausting to follow the animals. The horses strode out, not caring much for the wet soil that clung to Benjamin’s shoes, weighing them down. The effort kept him warm despite his wet clothes. That was the best thing he could hope for, Benjamin reminded himself constantly, before falling into a numbness where only the next step counted.

And the next, and the next. Sometimes the nose of the horse following him bumped his back as if to urge him forward, but the animal was just testing whether his shirt was edible.

When the sergeant ordered a halt after two hours, it was for the horses, not for the prisoner’s tired bones. Benjamin sank to his knees wanting to sleep and never wake up again.

“Don’t pass out, wimp, all right?” The sergeant nudged him and offered him a swig from his canteen after the soldiers had drunk. It was schnaps, a home-made hooch, not the brandy the pharmacists sold, and Benjamin coughed and gasped for air. But once the stuff that burned his throat was in his stomach, he felt warm from inside. He managed a “thank you” and returned the flask.

“It’s just two hours,” the sergeant said encouragingly.

To Benjamin it was a taste of eternity in a very cold and wet limbo. A fine rain set in, chilling horses and men, and they started to speed up. At sunset Naumburg came into view. Benjamin felt like crying. This morning, which seemed decades ago, he had been confident to reach the city at nightfall, to find a room and a bowl of hot soup at an inn. Now he saw Sophia head for the city gate, because the thief had asked leave to sell the mule and to find either a capable farrier or a butcher for his horse.

“He’ll spend the money on booze and whores and won’t come back,” complained the young soldier whose plea for leave the sergeant had denied.

“He will come back, ‘cause his wife and kid are in the baggage train,” the sergeant replied.

“Well really!” the youth snorted, “As if that’s a reason…”

“And that’s exactly the reason why _you_ will come with me!” The sergeant growled, tugging at Benjamin’s rope to get the desperate prisoner’s attention. “Let’s go!”

Benjamin cast his mule a sad glance and sighed. He wished the soldier would desert, because sewn into the lining of his inner jacket was his letter of credence with the seal of the Jesuits. His money was in that jacket too. But he wouldn’t grieve for it as long as it was gone with the letter that recommended him to Wallenstein’s chaplain.

“What will you do with me?” he asked the sergeant who took the rope now.

“Depends on the captain’s whims and on who you really are,” was the not at all helpful reply.

To Benjamin, the captain had not looked like a man with whims. Old aunts had whims. Maybe the captain was prone to mood swings that made him act generously one day and sternly the next. One could only hope and pray.

Benjamin’s hope vanished when they entered the Swedish camp. It was dark already, but the night over Naumburg was shining orange, lit by hundreds, maybe thousands of campfires, mirrored eerily in the fog over the river Saale that glowed like a stream of hellfire.

Around Naumburg, the Swedish army had set up a fortified camp, much bigger than the city their fortifications encircled.

Benjamin had no idea how many soldiers and camp followers were here, but they must  have counted in tens of thousands. When he passed the inner fortifications full of cannons, all he felt was a cold dread. These men were not going to spend the winter like this; they were waiting for the Emperor’s army.

Though it was mid-November and every reasonable strategist would hurry to accommodate his soldiers in a city or peasant houses, this army was still ready for battle. And with Wallenstein close by he might find himself in the middle of a battle within the very next days.

It didn’t help soothe his sense of foreboding that the first regiment they passed was Tott’s cavalry. In German, the Swedish General’s name sounded like “dead” or “death”. Giving credit to this resemblance, Tott’s company cornets were black with a white skull on a patch of grass, and from the skull's eye sockets grew roses or lilies or blazing flames. And when Benjamin detected a banner with a snake slithering out of a deadhead in the flickering campfire light, he was sure he had entered hell. No Christian who deserved the name would fight under such a flag. Silently he said his prayers, following the sergeant’s pale horse deeper into the heretics' underworld.

They passed the crowd around the sutlers’s stalls and wagons, and the smell of food made him dizzy with hunger. He wished the woman who had sold him bread this morning would recognize him and bale him out for the book on farming, but he told himself that that must surely be the beginning fever-dreams of a desperate man.

In front of one of the stalls there was a brawl amidst a hooting audience, but some fully armed soldiers, maybe the provost and his men, hurried to the fight, their mere appearance making most of the thugs run.

The sergeant led him to the middle of the camp, where the tents of the higher-ranking officers stood. Benjamin squinted. The big tent over there, with the many guards and a rich carriage next to it, was probably the king’s. Though awfully tired, he wished he could wait here for a while, just to see out of pure curiosity whether the king might come out, but the sergeant pulled him away from the tents of the generals and colonels to the rows behind, where the lower-ranking officers lived next to their companies.

The sergeant turned his horse abruptly when he detected his captain’s tall figure next to a campfire. The captain was talking with two other officers; his superiors, judging from their more elegant clothes. They were drinking some steaming beverage from steins, hot beer by the smell.

The captain turned when the other officers stopped talking, having seen the sergeant approach. He frowned furiously as he saw Benjamin staggering forward when the sergeant gave the rope a rude pull.

“Well, what’s that?” one of the other officers asked, eyeing Benjamin haughtily.

“The printer’s apprentice we caught today,” the captain said, shooing his sergeant away. “Don’t bother us with that brat, will you!”

“Wait a moment.” The other officer beckoned the sergeant to stay. “Ask him who printed these pamphlets – and who wrote them.”

“Answer the major!” the sergeant threatened to beat Benjamin with the end of the rope.

Benjamin cast a glance at the captain whose expression gave no hint of what he was thinking nor of why he had introduced him as a printer.

“They were printed at Jena by Master Christoph Meyer at the printery near the market place,” Benjamin said, trying to sound full of guilty conscience for betraying a master who didn’t exist. “He told me these were books on farming, and that I should take them to a bookbinder called Fischer at Leipzig. I didn’t know about the leaflets, I swear.”

“Of course you didn’t,” said the major condescendingly. “You don’t sound like someone from Jena.” His own local dialect was thick enough to prove his expertise in assessing his compatriots.

“I’m a journeyman, Sir,” Benjamin bowed. “I was born at the Rhine, but…”

“Where on the Rhine?” the third officer asked, harrumphing then and spitting slime into the fire.

“A village near Mainz, Sir.”

“Ah, Mainz, nice city…” the officer mused, sounding like a Hessian. “The hometown of printing… might be a decent city even, if there weren’t these treacherous Jesuits at every corner.”

Benjamin froze. How much had the captain told them?

The captain snorted. “Well, good news then: the Jesuits must have gone to the dogs when they send a boy with a donkey to spread their evil throughout the country.” He turned to the major. “If I were Wallenstein I’d order wagon-loads of pamphlets directly from Prague… but who knows?” He flashed Benjamin a smile. “Maybe wee boys who piss themselves as soon as they see some Swedish soldiers are their latest weapon to convert the Saxons to Catholicism and break our alliance.”

The officers laughed.

“Well, the executioner will find out.” The major gestured at the sergeant to remove the prisoner.

The captain said, “I’ll see to that,” but Benjamin felt happily surprised. This afternoon he had been sure that the captain had seen through his cover and knew that he was a clergyman, but now the same man had called him a printer’s apprentice.

Either these were the captain’s whims, or the man had deliberately lied to his superiors! Benjamin’s hope returned. Maybe the captain was a Catholic too and would try to save him! Though the Swedes told everyone to fight for Protestantism (and not for their king’s plan to make the Baltic Sea a Swedish inland lake with a wide hinterland), they accepted Catholic soldiers – as did Wallenstein’s muster clerks vice versa with Protestants.

‘That’s it!’ Benjamin thought, fighting his relieved smile before it aroused the sergeant’s suspicion. ‘The Lord has sent me the right man at the right time!’

The sergeant dismounted in front of a tent some hundred meters down the path. To Benjamin's further relief, the captain belonged to a regiment with light-coloured cornets, though he couldn’t recognize their exact colour in the firelight.

A stripe of yellow candlelight shone from the entrance; inside, two people were quarrelling. The voice of an old man insisted on getting a task done tonight, a petulant youth assured him that he would, but the arrogant boredom in his voice betrayed his intention not to obey.

The sergeant entered the tent without a call, dragging Benjamin behind. “Evening, Karl! …Alexander.” He greeted the elder man with a casual salute.

Benjamin glanced at the two men present. The elder one was even older than his voice sounded, in his early sixties maybe. His thin hair was completely white. He had only one eye left, and a sabre scar ran across the right side of his face. He stood bent at a heavy wooden table, where he had instructed the young man to repair some horse tack.

“Who’s that?” The young man pointed at Benjamin.

“Another useless gallows-bird the captain saved from being hanged,” the sergeant said. “So, where shall I put him? Tether him to the tent pole or tie him already to the captain’s bed?” He leered at the young man.

“How dare you!” The youth jumped up in a fury, almost kicking over an iron bucket full of embers. Benjamin could see now that the young man’s face, which had seemed beautiful at first sight, was marred by a scar on the right cheek. To him, it looked suspiciously like a branding for theft that had been obscured by a larger scar.

“Ah, c’mon, Alexander,” the sergeant sneered, “everyone knows that you’re doing more than just keeping the captain’s bed warm. Maybe he wants the redhead as an addition?”

“That’s an outrageous…” The young man’s voice cracked and he clenched his fists, but he was obviously not in a position to reprimand the sergeant – the captain’s servant perhaps.

Benjamin’s stomach clenched when it dawned on him why the captain might have ordered him into his tent too. He stared at the sergeant, his mouth hanging open in horror.

It was Karl who sorted the situation out. “One doesn’t talk about these things, Henner,” he scolded the sergeant in a friendly voice, “not even in jest! Tie that boy to the tent pole. Anything else is not your business.”

“All right, all right.” The sergeant pushed Benjamin to the tent pole. “Keep an eye on him, that he doesn’t run.”

With a rapier point pressing into his throat, Benjamin didn’t dare move when the sergeant untied his hands for a moment just to bind them behind his back and then tether him to the pole in the middle of the round tent.

Benjamin tried to assess Karl’s expression: the man looked both tired of and exasperated by the proceedings, but determined to kill him should he try to escape.

“Done,” the sergeant said, pulling the last knot tight. “Good night then.” With that, he left, nodding at Karl and smirking at Alexander.

The old man put the rapier back on a stack of boxes that divided the tent. Then he turned towards Alexander. “So I can rely on you to get it done by morning?” It didn’t sound much like a question.

“Of course,” the youth assured him, glaring at the old man and opening a buckle on a bridle.

“All right,” Karl said, pointing at the prisoner, “And leave him alone or I’ll have you flogged.”

“As if you had the right to give such an order!” Alexander spat.

“Not to the executioner, but among the wagons I have.” Karl grinned and left the tent, bent and limping slightly.

As soon as the old man had left, Alexander dropped the bridle, scowling at Benjamin.

Benjamin sighed. Not again…

“What!” Alexander barked at him, planting himself in front of the bound man.

“I already had my share of trouble today, and I’m in no way voluntarily here, so please leave me alone.” Benjamin let all his exhaustion show in his voice. But his weakness, which would have made a good Christian feel compassion, made the young servant laugh with contempt.

He slapped Benjamin in the face and grabbed his throat, squeezing it brutally. “You don’t get why you’re here, do you, you country yokel,” he cooed. “He’ll fuck you up the arse and then he’ll have you hanged for God knows what offence. That’ll be your ‘share of trouble’ for tonight, stupid!” He laughed at the terror in Benjamin’s eyes. “You thought he saved you, didn’t you? Aye… all of them think that.” He kissed Benjamin’s cheek.

Benjamin shook his head furiously, choking when the hand around his throat closed like claws digging into his neck, blocking the blood in his veins. His sight started to fade, and in his distress he kicked at his tormentor, hitting the man’s groin full force with his knee.

With a scream the young man let go of him, staggering back, hands pressed between his legs. “You goddamn…” he hissed, gasping for breath. He retreated to the table where he grabbed a knife, but instead of jumping at Benjamin, he leaned on the tabletop, cursing in pain.

A rustle at the tent entrance, and the captain strode in, taking in the situation at first sight.

“You’ll never learn, will you, Alex?” he asked, a hint of amusement in his low voice.

“What!” the young man snarled. “I’ll stab that bastard…”

“You won’t!” The captain tossed his hat onto the table, not caring for the horse tack. “If you wanted to molest a prisoner, you should have restrained him properly first.” The captain smiled at Benjamin, taking off his gloves and stuffing them into his belt. He went behind his prisoner, put his hands on the young man’s waist and pushed them slowly together until they rested on Benjamin’s stomach. Benjamin held his breath. ‘Lord, help me’, he prayed, ‘Not this!’

Humming a cheerful dance tune, the captain unbuckled Benjamin’s belt and tugged at the waistband of his trousers. Tall as he was, he had no problems looking over Benjamin’s shoulder despite the tent pole between them. The captain took his time opening the knot and bow of the cord that held Benjamin’s trousers in place, and then he pushed them down, still humming that silly melody.

The wet woollen cloth pooled around Benjamin’s ankles above his shoes. “Now try to kick again,” the captain said with a chuckle, his hands sliding slowly over Benjamin’s belly.

Benjamin stared at those hands, but he saw another scenario, one so shameful that he squeezed his eyes shut. “Please, for Christ’s sake, I beg you, Sir, don’t do that to me!”

The officer snorted and let go of him. He went to his servant and patted the young man’s shoulder, but what was meant to be a gesture of affection was taken the wrong way.

“Don’t you!” Alexander hissed, rising – not to full height, but standing again.

The captain crossed his arms and looked down at the young man, only raising an eyebrow.

“I’m so sick of it!” Alexander glared at him. “Even that thrice-damned sergeant knows! Comes in without a call – ‘Well, where to put that lad? Tie him to the tent pole or the captain’s bed?’” He did a good job imitating the sergeant’s much lower voice. “The whole regiment is laughing at me!”

“So what?” the captain said, cocking his head.

“So what?!” the youth exploded. “If you want to end up at the stake, feel free to do so! I won’t!” He limped to the other side of the tent, where some boxes and casks obscured the view of a stack of blankets, a bed of some kind. He started to stuff clothes into a bag. “You said I’m free to go whenever I want! And that’s now!”

The captain nodded slowly, still not moving to beat his unruly servant black and blue, much to Benjamin’s astonishment and dread. “But where will you go, Alexander?”

“Winter’s lieutenant told me in _his_ company I could become a soldier, a cornet even!”

“It’s not a good time to do that, Alexander,” the captain said, his voice even.

“I don’t care! I’m fed up with being treated as … nothing but your whore, depending on your Grace’s mercy! I’m more than that!”

The captain sighed. “Then go and prove it.” He pointed at the entrance of the tent.

Alexander stared at him as if he couldn’t believe that he was allowed to leave so easily. Warily he stayed out of the captain’s reach when he headed for the entrance, and Benjamin feared that in the next moment the officer would produce his rapier and run that bad excuse for a servant through.

But Alexander went unharmed.

When the young man had left, the captain drew a deep breath and huffed it out before he turned to Benjamin with a frown. “Well, now it’s just the two of us.”

# Chapter 4

Just the two of us.

Benjamin tried to suppress a shiver that was not due to the chilly air or his wet clothes.

His devil was back. It had to be him, repeating Alexander’s ‘He’ll fuck you up the arse and then he’ll have you hanged…’ again and again.

Benjamin watched the Swedish captain, who put his sword on the stack of boxes. There was truth in the proverb ‘The mills of God grind slowly, but they grind exceeding small.’

Benjamin had always known that all the reassurances and absolutions of his benevolent but sloppy father confessor back in Mainz wouldn’t wash away his guilt.

“It’s those holier-than-thou traitors who’ll end up in the deepest pits of hell!” his friend Thomas had hissed, before limping away to be greeted by his father, the mayor, with a slap in his face that made the young man spit blood.

Benjamin squeezed his eyes shut to will the memory away. ‘ _Every man is punished according to his sins,_ ’ the devil stated.

Benjamin couldn’t fight back a guilty smile when he suddenly remembered that poor General Bucquoy was said to have cited this proverb too, after he got a shot in his loins – only to add, looking at one of the infamous General Mansfeld’s messengers: ‘Send your master my regards, it’s he who deserved _this_ one!’

“Having fun, are we?”

Benjamin’s eyes snapped open. “No, Sir, not really…”

The captain folded his sash, put it on the sword and the leather belts. He gave his prisoner a smile and then started to untie his buffcoat.

This officer was the tallest man he’d ever seen, Benjamin mused, realizing that he didn’t know his captor’s name. Judging from his dialect, the captain was from the north, where the German language sounded so strange to a Palatinate like Benjamin that it might as well have been a foreign one. Swedish for example.

He tried to assess the other man’s age. In his forties, he decided, though it was hard to tell in these days when the war put years on people they wouldn’t live through. There was definitely grey in the long brown mane, though the man didn’t look weakened by age in any way.

I don’t want to be beaten by such a giant, Benjamin thought desperately, nor be touched in any other way…

He gazed at the man’s huge hands which undid bow after bow of the strings that held the heavy leather coat at the front, and he gazed at the man’s profile. Everything about him was blunt and coarse, and God might know in which woods this creature had been living among moose and bears, until King Gustavus Adolphus had come along and offered him a better life.

Looting civilized countries for example.

Raping young clergymen instead of knocking the next bear out and dragging it home…

The captain shrugged out of the buffcoat, hung the heavy leather jacket over the chair's back, making the massive piece of furniture almost topple over backwards. The dark jacket he wore under the leather was waisted, but plain cloth, no brocade, no embroidery, and there was not much luxury in his lace collar either.

Benjamin had no idea what the boxes in the tent might contain, but this officer didn’t look as if the war had made him wealthy so far.

The captain disappeared behind those boxes and casks and crouched down. Benjamin heard the click of wood against ceramic, and his sense of smell, overly keen with hunger, told him that the liquid running from a cask into a jug was wine.

The Swede returned with a pitcher and two mugs, cleared the table of his hat and the horse tack and announced, “I’ll get us some food, and then we’ll talk.”

Talk! Benjamin thought, anger surfacing through his fear. Nice word for interrogation!

His stomach, however, answered with an eager rumble.

The captain smiled and left his tent.

Getting food obviously meant summoning the nearest soldier: “Hey, Wagner, take this and buy me some soup and meat at the sutlers. That’s for you.”

The tip must have been generous, because a pleased voice answered, “Thank you, Sir! Will be right there!”

Not enough time then to fumble with the rope, trying to pick at the knot that kept him bound to the tent pole. Benjamin cursed inwardly when he saw the captain return.

The officer helped himself to some wine, scrutinized his prey while only sipping at the mug.

Benjamin bit his lower lip. _If you’re not thirsty, let me have the wine!_ But he wouldn’t allow his captor to use his thirst as a weapon against him. The smell of wine, the sight of someone swallowing was torture enough. Benjamin hung his head, staring at his feet hobbled by his trousers. Luckily his shirt was decently long enough, covering him down to his knees.

The captain refilled his mug, went over to Benjamin and put a finger under his prisoner's chin. “Look at me.”

Benjamin jerked his head back, glared at the captain. _I won’t show my fear! I was wretched enough this afternoon… I won’t beg again!_ But he had a bad feeling that the captain would make him beg for mercy very soon.

“Do you want a sip?”

_To make me drunk and compliant?_ Benjamin bit his lips, swallowing with a dry mouth. The height difference gave him the awkward feeling of being a child again, pouting at an adult.

“Come on, it’s not poisoned,” the captain quipped and took a sip to prove it. “You must be thirsty.”

Benjamin almost despaired. “May I have some water, Sir?”

“Water?” The captain frowned at him as if said substance was only for horses, or dangerous somehow. “You don’t expect me to carry water, now that my annoying batman has taken his leave?” He held the mug up to Benjamin’s lips.

The rich scent of a strong red wine made him slightly dizzy. _You’ll take only a sip, just enough to quench the worst of your thirst. Getting you drunk, that’s the way they start it…_ He bowed his head, fearing that the captain’s offer might be just a cruel joke after all the atrocities of today, but he was allowed to drink.

What he had meant to be a careful sip became a greedy gulp as soon as liquid ran over his tongue, and the big cup was empty before Benjamin could savour the taste of an exquisite wine.

With a pleased smile – or what might have passed for pleased on his craggy features – the captain went to refill the mug.

It was Benjamin, the wine merchant’s son, not Benjamin the Jesuits’ student, who blurted after the second cup, “That’s wine fit for a king’s table.”

“Actually it’s from an abbey’s cellar,” the officer said with a wink. “I’m glad you know to appreciate it.”

Benjamin didn’t want to know which monastery the Swedes had plundered and how the poor monks had fared.

The captain put the mug back onto the table. He sat down on the table top and watched Benjamin for a few very long minutes. Benjamin wondered whether the faint expression of hope on the captain’s face passed for a pensive mood.

“Listen, boy,” the officer said in a calm voice. “First of all, spare me the rubbish that you didn’t know about the leaflets. My men told me you ran when they _started_ to search your saddlebags. That’s not the behaviour of a good printer whom I would expect to try to protect his work from illiterates. Second, no-one would be so stupid as to keep a rosary if he had no use for it, and that kind of albs don’t lie around ready to steal in the heartland of Protestantism. Your turn…”

_Oh Lord, help me! What if I admit to being a clergyman, what if I pretend to be a printer?_

Since the conflagration of Madgeburg last year, the Swedes had shown no mercy on soldiers of the Catholic armies, but had shot them down even if they asked for quarter, sneering “Remember Madgeburg!” at the dying men. Why should they show any mercy on a Catholic army’s field chaplain?

“Well?” the captain asked.

Benjamin tried to assess the captain’s expression. How long would that calm demeanour continue? When would he start to beat him? While some scholars, Jesuits among them, claimed that torture would reveal nothing but the torturer’s expectations, it was the trusted practice in interrogations. And considering the servant’s words he would be more than lucky only to be beaten.

“I thought the beads might have a certain value,” Benjamin opted for the thief-printer persona. “They’re made of amber.”

The officer huffed out an exasperated sigh, giving up his seat and planting himself in front of Benjamin.

_Strange_ , Benjamin mused, _how a face can change from somehow benevolent to stone cold in the blink of an eye._

“All right,” the captain said, “so it’s Benjamin Kenneberg, printer’s apprentice from Jena, apprenticed to a Master Mayer, isn’t it?” His voice said: _I don’t believe you at all._

“Yes, but I’m no apprentice anymore, but a journeyman on my way to Leipzig,” Benjamin confirmed with all the persuasiveness he could muster, while admonishing himself to be very aware of what he told a man who memorized names so well. He already felt the wine, and cursed himself for drinking it.

“That’s a bit of a predicament now,” the captain replied, frowning at him. “If you were a man of decent station, say a priest or other cleric, I could have accepted your word of honour to stay as my prisoner until your ilk pays ransom for you.” He sighed. “But what do I do with an unattached printer stripling whose ex-master I’ll have to arrest, because I still do not know who’s behind those leaflets and who this ‘bookbinder’ in Leipzig really is?”

He took a step closer to Benjamin, looming over the young man, almost touching his body at full length. His hair and this jacket smelled of sweat, wet leather, and rain, and his breath of an excellent stolen wine.

_You won’t be afraid!_ But Benjamin flinched and his stomach clenched when the captain’s hands came up – and cupped his cheeks. A broad thumb stroked his mouth, and Benjamin sucked his lips between his teeth to avoid that impertinent contact.

“Tell me, little one, who’ll pay ransom for you if your master disappears into the dungeon? And what shall I do in case you lied to me, and there is no Master Mayer in Jena? Do I have to arrest the other printers?” The captain took his time to let the thought sink in. “How do you think the authorities of Jena will react when they learn that some of their citizens incite the Saxon army to rise up against the Swedes, their allies? Execute them? All of them?” He bowed down a little, and Benjamin felt his breath on his face, “Execute them, just to make sure that there are no more leaflets asking the ‘good Saxons’ to drive away the Swedes, so that the Elector may reunite with the Emperor?”

Benjamin shook his head vigorously. “You wouldn’t do that!” He stared at the officer, who didn’t let go of him completely but rested his hands on Benjamin’s shoulders, cocking his head and looking expectantly at his prisoner.

“What is it I wouldn’t do?”

Benjamin felt his stomach cramp. _Why didn’t I tell them a city far out of their reach?_ ‘Because the ruse to call the leaflets “A Letter from the Concerned Citizens of Saxony” wouldn’t have worked then,’ the devil said.

“You wouldn’t execute all printers,” he said in a weak voice.

“It’s high treason to produce propaganda against a king their Elector has signed a treaty with,” the officer said matter-of-factly.

“A _Swedish_ king, who…” Benjamin bit back the rest of his enraged retort: who forces the German princes under his yoke!

“Who ensures our freedom from the Emperor’s claim to return all former church property to him and his bunch of Jesuit aides,” the captain continued, looking Benjamin in the eye. “Certainly a thing no concerned Saxon citizen would wish for, because this would leave his highly esteemed Elector bereft of some quite nice estates…”

The Edict of Restitution isn’t about giving the ecclesiastical properties to the Emperor, but back to the Holy Church! Benjamin wanted to snap, but what would a printer’s apprentice know about that? Would he even care?

“But you’re destroying the empire!” he snarled instead.

“And Wallenstein brings back peace?! With scoundrels like Holk under his command who threaten to magdeburgize every Protestant city? Or with Isolani and his redcoats who slay every living soul around?” The captain’s hands on Benjamin’s shoulders tightened. “Well, for people who say a rosary that might be the peace they’re intending!”

“Ah, and your people are all angels, aren’t they!” Benjamin shouted back, trying to shake the hard grip off, “It was neither Holk nor some redcoats who wanted to hang me!”

“No. And I apologize for that.” The officer let go of him and took a step back. “But you’re one of their henchmen.”

Benjamin hung his head. That much was true. Though he didn’t like to be called a henchman. Neither did he like the thought of being responsible for the death of innocent craftsmen and the poverty of their families. “The leaflets,” he said in a small voice, “I brought them with me from the Rhineland. There’s no need to arrest anyone in Jena.”

“All the way on that little donkey?” The captain’s voice was calm again. He sounded almost friendly now. _He would make a great inquisitor_ , Benjamin thought.

“It was a mule! And no, I travelled to Erfurt with some merchants and bought the mule there …”

“And you were heading where?”

“To Leipzig. As I told you, I’m no apprentice anymore, but a journeyman. I wanted to move to Leipzig anyway, and my former Master worked a lot for… well, the Catholic cause. I was told to deliver the leaflets at said bookbindery and hoped the receivers would in return recommend me to one of the famous printers of Leipzig. The leaflets were not meant for the soldiers, who can hardly read and would ask their superiors to read them aloud, but for the citizens, the merchants of Leipzig, those who have the money to move things.” Benjamin held the captain’s gaze. _Believe me, please!_

“And where would you deliver the alb?”

“Also there. There seems to be a priest in Leipzig who takes care of the Catholics who come into the city as merchants.”

“Or the ones who never really recanted their old confession,” the captain added with a disgusted snort.

Benjamin hung his head. _Please Lord, let him take this bait, and I’m saved, without threatening the poor printers of Jena!_

“Well,” the captain returned to the table, refilled his mug and took a sip with a face as if drinking vinegar, “and whom do I have to contact for your ransom?”

Benjamin tried to feign sorrow. “The people in Leipzig who are waiting for their leaflets. Please don’t tell them you have burned these. My family isn’t rich, but some rich merchants in Leipzig might pay for me…”

“Too bad that between us and that wonderful city there is Wallenstein’s army,” the captain said with a shrug, and then a smile curled his lips as though to say: but surely you knew that. He put down the mug and sauntered over to Benjamin. “And what would these ‘rich merchants’ pay for a mere commoner who lost their commodity? No, I don’t think a printer boy is worth the effort to sneak around a hostile army. Tell you what: I’ll simply keep you.”

“Keep me?” Benjamin asked flabbergasted. “Putting me among your soldiers?”

The captain’s smile grew wider. “No.” Again he cupped Benjamin’s cheeks. “As my batman or… you know, when I found you out there, looking up to me with these big green eyes, barely able to speak, I wondered how your lips would feel … and taste.”

Benjamin barely had time to draw a breath before the captain’s mouth touched his. He pressed his lips together as tightly as he could, didn’t want to breathe in the other man’s breath, didn’t want to open his mouth to a tongue that tried to invade him. _God! This isn’t true! This isn’t happening!_

Shaking his head, he tried to kick again, but his movement was hampered when the captain stepped on the cloth of the trousers which hobbled Benjamin’s feet. The Captain let go of his head and stepped aside, licking his upper lip and smiling.

“Damn you!” Benjamin exploded with fury. “Who do you think you are to treat me in such a disgusting way!”

Mimicking taking off his hat, the captain bowed elegantly to Benjamin as if greeting a prince. “Captain Kai von Innow at your service!”

Benjamin vigorously rubbed his mouth against his shoulder to clean the strange spittle from his lips.

“Ah, come, you won’t die from it,” von Innow said, watching the young man with a smirk. “Is it so awful to accept a kiss?” He raised his hand to stroke Benjamin’s cheek, but the infuriated prisoner jerked his head away, snarling.

The captain’s hand fell heavily on his shoulder instead, a blunt forefinger sneaking under the hem of the shirt’s collar. “Tell me, Benjamin, is such devilish snarling and cursing really proper behaviour for a young clergyman?”

Benjamin froze.

The captain grabbed Benjamin’s face with the other hand, made the captive look at him, all smile gone. “Do you really think that I’d buy that printer story against all evidence?”

_I won’t fall for this ruse!_ “All you have is assumptions, misled by some objects…” He gasped when the captain let go of his face, grabbed the collar of his shirt with both hands and ripped it open. With a shriek, the wet linen gave way and exposed Benjamin down to his navel.

“So I’m not despoiling any church property, am I?” The captain scrutinized him, gripping deeper into the gash. “Good to know that I won’t have to return _you_ to some popish bishop or order.” He tore further until the hem broke and the shirt fell open like an unbuttoned jacket.

With a contemplative smile, von Innow slid his fingers under the shoulders of the shirt, lifted it by a hand’s width and shoved it back slowly until it slid down Benjamin’s arms to his elbows, exposing the young man fully to the chilly air.

The captain took two steps back, regarding his prey. “Beautiful,” he said.

“Untie me and I’ll give you ‘beautiful’!” Benjamin raged, but the officer didn’t answer. He simply watched him, as if studying an exquisite work of art.

Fear started to freeze his guts, spread through his body and made vanish the hot anger that had provided bravery. There was nothing beautiful about him! He had reddish hair, green eyes and those moles – if he were a girl, there would be rumours calling him a witch. And looking down his body, there was no elegance, but the sturdiness in build that spoke of a peasant origin, fur on his chest like an animal's and that big cock of his, a sure proof that he had indulged too much in the silent sin of masturbation. Benjamin blushed crimson. If the stranger considered this beautiful, he was already so deep down in the fires of hell that salvation wasn’t possible anymore. _And I won’t join him there!_

But how to distract the Swede from watching him in such a lascivious way?

“Then why did you tell your superiors that I’m a printer!” Benjamin shouted, trying in vain to put the same outrage into his voice as before.

The captain snapped out of his reverie and frowned. “The commander of my regiment knows that I consider you a cleric. But Major von Hassfurt, the one you’ve met at the campfire, is a zealot. He lost some of his kin when your troops burned down Magdeburg, therefore he has every reason to hate supporters of the Catholic cause…”

“It was an accident! You know how fast a looted city burns…”

Von Innow shook his head with an angry grunt. “…But I’d really hate to see you run through by his rapier, going dead and cold within minutes, when on the other hand,” he returned to Benjamin, grabbed the prisoner’s waist and pressed the young man against himself, “I’d like to see you run you through with mine, going lively and hot.” With that, those paws slid around Benjamin’s back, groping his buttocks.

“What are you thinking!” Benjamin shouted, anger flaring up again. “That’s sodomy! You’ll burn in hell for that!”

“Rubbish.” The captain bowed down and kissed Benjamin’s neck. Due to Benjamin’s wriggling, he touched the sore trace of the rope.

“Rubbish?” Benjamin yelled, trying to shake off the man who was nuzzling his shoulder now, stroking Benjamin’s ass. “God will punish you for that! You and your whole Antichrist army!”

The captain laughed. Benjamin couldn’t believe it, but that goddamned heretic had the cheek to laugh at that!

“If God wished to punish me for this,” von Innow said, smiling dotingly at Benjamin like a father who found his child’s fit of rage amusing, “he could have done so for twenty years now. And if he were actually after the sodomites to punish them, I bet your Vatican would be the first place to be struck by lightning, don’t you think?”

“You’re disgusting!” Benjamin hissed. “And don’t you dare think that you’ll get away with this! Even your Luther hasn’t denied hell! And when you’ll meet him down there, you can…”

A call from the tent entrance made him stop. “Sorry to disturb you, Captain, but it’s Wagner with the food!”

“And you deny being a cleric?” The captain let go of him with a wink and went to see his soldier.

Benjamin sagged against the pole, shaking his head. Now he understood why the sergeant had predicted that Benjamin would prefer to be hanged before the captain was done with him. But was that really so? _No,_ Benjamin decided, _as long as it is rape, there’s no guilt upon me. As long as I don’t desire it and as long as I don’t feel any lust, it’s neither sin nor crime on my part._

He heard the captain talk outside, joking. The soldier roared with laughter.

_Lord, this one I don’t really desire. Such a low-down, rotten bastard beyond all feelings of guilt! And ugly. And old._

He couldn’t help thinking of Thomas again, the handsome blond school-friend, some years older than him, his tutor in Latin.

In his mind’s eye, Benjamin still saw the stair up to the older students' rooms, the dust dancing in the yellow light of a late summer afternoon. He heard the giggles and the panting, something that sounded like a mere fight for fun, but when he opened the door to Thomas’ room, he stared at his friend, who stood, trousers down, bent over Benjamin’s classmate David at the desk, his erect cock between the boy’s thighs, his hands somewhere deep in David’s shirt. ‘Oh, hello Ben, you’re a little early…’ And Benjamin had run, run in puzzlement and rage, down into the chapel to pray and repent for seeing such a sinful display – just to realize that he couldn’t ban the picture from his mind, and he got hard as soon as he regained breath from his flight. Realizing that it was something other than just admiration he held for Thomas, remembering that Thomas had touched him during their lessons over and over again, a pat on the shoulder here, a friendly nudge there – and realizing that he had never thought anything special about it had made him almost laugh back then, as a sixteen-year-old kneeling in the pews. He had crouched there, both hands pressed into his lap, willing the erection away at first, then stroking it, huddling into a desperate heap, well-knowing that he would burn in hell for it. Fast steps down the aisle and a stinging slap, and Father Andreas had pulled him from the bench, shouting at him, what he was doing. And Benjamin had confessed. Everything.

The captain’s return was welcome at the moment, because it diverted Benjamin’s thoughts away from the past. Von Innow carried two stacked dishes, covered by a loaf of bread. He put the dishes onto the table, took the bread off, and with the steam a smell of roasted meat and spicy soup started to fill the tent. The captain ripped a morsel off the loaf, dipped it into the soup. “Hmm, excellent,” he said with stuffed cheeks, rummaging through the table drawer for a knife and spoons and coming up with silver ones. “Dinner’s ready. Who says the prayer?”

Benjamin turned his face away, fighting the sudden nausea caused by his empty stomach and the onslaught of the smell of rich food. “Please don’t mock me.”

“All right, I won’t.” The captain went behind him, untied the knots in the rope that held Benjamin to the tent pole. Putting a hand on Benjamin’s shoulder, he urged the captive to the table. “You’ll surely forgive me for keeping you bound, but I don’t want a fight at dinner.”

“And how am I expected to eat?” Benjamin snarled. “Like a pig from a trough?”

“No.” The officer slumped onto the chair, grabbing Benjamin’s waist and pulling him onto his lap. “I’ll feed you.”

“That’s…” Benjamin struggled to get to his feet, but a sharp slap on his thigh stopped him.

“Behave, boy, or it’s me who’ll eat, and you’ll be watching!”

“That’s simply outrageous!” Benjamin trembled with anger at such a humiliation – sitting naked on another man’s lap being fed like a child! And the worst was that through the too few layers of von Innow’s clothes he felt the demon’s sex pressing against his thigh. Revulsion and fear made his stomach clench.

Holding his prisoner with the left hand around his back, the captain picked off another morsel of bread, dipped it into the soup and offered it to Benjamin, who turned his face away.

“Oh, come, don’t be coy!” the captain chided, his left hand tightening on Benjamin’s hip.

“I’m sick,” Benjamin gasped, and it was true.

With an exasperated growl, the captain ate the bread himself. “Breathe,” he said, lifting his left hand and starting to rub Benjamin’s back in a way that was meant to be soothing. “When did you last eat?” Now he sounded almost caring. Benjamin hated him for that.

“This morning.”

“Well, quite a lot of things happened since then,” the captain mused. “Would you like to try a piece of dry bread first? Or a sip of wine?”

Bread and wine, like in Holy Communion! Benjamin choked at an unhappy sound, then he made up his mind. “Wine please.”

The captain had to bend over awkwardly to reach the pitcher and one of the cups, and Benjamin, who sat sideways on his lap, was squeezed against the table. He groaned with protest, and the captain actually said, “Sorry.”

“Sir, it would be so much easier for both of us if you let me sit on a chair of my own,” Benjamin suggested carefully while the captain filled the mug.

“Yes, of course, but I like it better this way.” The villain’s big hand still stroked up and down Benjamin’s spine, and though it was reprehensible in itself, Benjamin realized that it warmed his back, driving away the goose-flesh. Sitting near the bucket with the embers – and far away from the captain’s body-heat – would be preferable, but it was no option.

Benjamin gave in with a sigh. The captain offered him the wine, and he took a careful sip, then a second one with more determination.

“Better?” the captain asked.

Benjamin nodded. “I think so.”

“Good. Do you want to try some bread?”

Benjamin nodded again. It was a small morsel. At first, his stomach cramped at the feeling of food on his tongue, but then his body reconsidered, and Benjamin swallowed the bread eagerly. The rumbling of his stomach made the captain chuckle.

“Ah, we’ll get you fed, don’t you worry.” The next piece of bread was dipped into the soup, and when Benjamin chewed on it with a relieved smile, the captain took a spoon and started to feed him, first with some broth, then with the vegetables and the meat from the soup.

As impossible as his situation was, Benjamin would never have expected this kind of captivity. Sitting on your enemy’s lap and being fed a really good stew. This Swede was utterly mad. Suddenly, he thought of the old childhood rituals when the much-hated groats were shovelled into him, accompanied with the chant ‘eat one spoonful for mummy, one spoonful for daddy…’

_For whom do I eat soup now_ , he thought, swallowing. _One for the King of Sweden, one for the Elector of Saxony, one for the Elector of Brandenburg, one for the Dukes of Saxony-Weimar_ … He didn’t manage to open his mouth for the next one properly, but burst with desperate, hysterical laughter.

The captain spilled most of the broth, but saved a piece of pork for himself. “What’s so funny?” he asked, chewing.

“When you were a little child…” Benjamin gasped for air, “did your mother never feed you, saying ‘one spoonful for mummy, one for granny’ and so on? And now…” It was the first time he dared to turn his head and look the captain in the eye, “I thought of the Protestant princes…” The last words came out as a sob, and suddenly he felt like crying. He wouldn’t see his family ever again.

“Oh,” von Innow said, “I think my mother never needed to force me to eat. But hey, come on, no need to cry, little one. There. If you don’t like Protestant prince soup let me have some spoonfuls of it, and then we’ll try the second course, all right?”

Benjamin nodded, fighting back the tears. “No,” he rasped after some minutes. “It’s a good soup.”

“Do you want some more?” the captain looked up from eating.

No, not really. With a sad face Benjamin shook his head.

“Well, I understand that such an idea can spoil your appetite,” the captain quipped. “I wouldn’t like to think of the Emperor now either.” He stirred the soup. “Hello there, isn’t that the Duke of Bavaria?” He balanced a piece of fat meat on the spoon, chewed on it, frowning, “Bah, no, that was the King of Spain. Let’s see if we find some bishops. How do we recognize a bishop in that dish called the Holy Roman Empire? Probably by looking for something unpalatable.” The captain sorted through slices of cooked vegetables.

“Hah! I found one!” The captain presented a chunk of an onion and ate it. “Ah, his Excellency the archbishop of Mainz – a little over-cooked, but not too mushy!”

Benjamin had to chuckle despite himself. “Please stop that! That’s… too ridiculous.”

“But it’s nice to see you smile,” the captain said. “ _You_ are nice when you smile.” 

Benjamin’s smile froze, turning into a mask of horror.

“Oh no!” von Innow moaned. “Forget what I said, all right? I didn’t want to frighten you. Please be ugly, but happy!” He put down the spoon to pull over the dish with the roasted meat. “Here, let’s try something else. Good Saxon pork, freshly stolen by eager fouragiers, roasted by our skilled sutler ladies, already sliced… and as it looks, I’d bet my good Wagner has nicked some slices to spend his entire tip on beer.”

Nevertheless, it was still a portion for at least three very hungry people. The captain took a slice, dipped it into the gravy and offered the meat to Benjamin – who bit into it with the eagerness of a wolf, not caring that the gravy dripped onto his thigh. By keeping his hands bound, the captain had lost the right to insist on table manners! The meat was excellently done, had a thick crackling of fat, and the gravy tasted of the quite right amount of juniper berries and pepper. Benjamin hadn’t eaten such a good joint for a long time. The Jesuit College of Mainz was infamous for its cooking, and his last visit home had been too short and too awkward to stay for a Sunday lunch.

When Benjamin was chewing happily, the captain took a bite from the slice too, obviously content with not caring for any manners either, and gazing at the trail of gravy running between Benjamin’s legs. He offered Benjamin a bite again, and despite his uneasiness at sharing food in such an overly intimate manner, Benjamin finished the slice off, but frowned and jerked his head away when the captain tried to wipe some gravy from Benjamin’s chin. Having been a cavalry man for too long, the officer automatically said “whoa”, as if soothing a skittish horse.

He chuckled at his own mistake, and wiped the gravy from Benjamin’s leg with two fingers. Licking them clean, he looked at Benjamin with a mischievous smile. “More?” he asked.

Benjamin stared at him aghast. “More food, yes please, but not more of your…” he couldn’t find an expression that was not obscene.

“I’m sure we’ll find a compromise in that matter,” the captain said with a relaxed smile, picking the next slice of roasted meat from the dish, scooping up more of the gravy with it. It was not clumsiness at all that made most of the gravy trickle on Benjamin’s body before the slice was held to his lips. Benjamin flinched and cursed when a well-aimed drop landed on his penis. It wasn’t hot enough anymore to hurt, but it was _there_ …

He stared at the captain, who was watching him expectantly, “Please, Sir, I may be your prisoner, but that’s _definitely_ going too far! I am grateful that you share your food with me, but I’m not part of your dinner, so there’s no need to cover me in sauce!”

The captain’s merry grin became even wider when he said, “That’s a misunderstanding, dear boy. You _are_ definitely the dessert!” He tapped Benjamin’s chin with the meat. “Want a bite?”

“NO!” Benjamin managed to jump to his feet with a start. In the next instant however, a pair of hands that were used to bringing even a panicking horse back under control, gripped his hair and his bound wrists and shoved him onto the table so hard that the pitcher toppled over and the wine sloshed under him and over the table’s edges like blood from a freshly slaughtered animal.

The captain was with his full weight on him, or at least Benjamin thought so, because instead of drawing a breath to scream for help at the top of his lungs, all he managed was a painful wheeze.

“Listen, boy,” the captain growled, “you can get it the hard way too, if you insist on that,” he thrust his hips against Benjamin’s ass to prove that he was hard enough to take him right now. “But I’d rather prefer a more civilized approach.”

“Civilized? Great! I … really appreciate being raped in a civilized manner!” Benjamin ground out, staring at the knife that lay on the table only a hand’s length away from his face. If he could only get it! There it was, a long, sleek iron blade with a sharp point, an engraved silver hilt, shining almost golden in the candlelight and lying in red liquid. _There will be one moment when I get my hands free, get this knife and slice you up!_

“I won’t rape you.” The kiss on his nape was gentle. And wet. Benjamin froze, realizing that his attempt to run had only helped the captain get his ‘dessert’ the sooner. The scratch of whiskers on the vulnerable skin at the back of his neck made the little hairs on Benjamin’s body stand on end. When the warm suction of lips lingered on the first vertebra of his back, his chilled skin started to tingle, and the friction of a tongue massaging that bump made him shudder.

The fist that held his hair relaxed, and the captain released Benjamin, mussing his hair. “Turn around.”

It didn’t sound like a good idea. Benjamin cast a wary glance upwards. The captain however, used to his orders being obeyed immediately, grabbed him and wrestled him onto his back. “You won’t kick!” A hard slap high on his thigh and a fist squeezing his cock made it painfully clear to Benjamin that the other man had the better reflexes by far.

Scowling, Benjamin stared up to see the scoundrel smile down at him. Strangely enough, there was no malice in that smile, more a curious interest, wondering what he would come up with next. Benjamin glared at him, pressing his lips together in a grim line. He would not beg!

He hissed through clenched teeth and bucked, though, when rough fingers started to stroke him _there_.

“Good?” Von Innow rested his other hand on Benjamin’s chest, only his thumb stroking through the wet hair, finding his left nipple, rolling it between thumb and forefinger. “Drenched in wine…” he said with a chuckle. “That goes better than I dared dream …” With that he bowed down and replaced his fingers with a kiss.

Benjamin yelped with shock at the wet suction and the sudden flash of sensation down to his groin. _God!_ Of course he knew that his nipples were a sensitive spot, but secretly he had always assumed that it was a failure of his body. For what in the world did a man need nipples at all? Well, sodomites like the captain seemed to have found a use for them! 

Benjamin shivered. Not only were there lips on him, but an insistent tongue too, rubbing the little nub of flesh against sharp teeth… and a hand stroking his cock just so… _No!_ He dug his fingernails into the hard surface of the table, squeezed his eyes shut, and started to say a prayer, but a sudden pinch made him gasp.

“I won’t have any Latin fuss on my table, boy,” von Innow chuckled, picking a hair off his tongue and pressing a kiss to the pit of Benjamin’s stomach.

“You’re the devil himself!” Benjamin said in despair.

“Rubbish…” Two more kisses trailing down towards Benjamin’s navel, “the devil is said to have a cold, scaly prick, if one believes in the findings of the Holy Inquisition, mine however…” another very wet kiss, “is hot and just as smooth as yours, you’ll see.”

_Lord, get me out of this! Please let Wallenstein attack, make the king order Innow’s company on horseback within the next minutes, please help me out of this, and I promise to say a mass for aunt Kaethe, though she was such a heretic, and I promise not to be so stuck-up towards my brethren, and…_

“Hey, Innow, are you at home?” a man called out as if on cue.

Benjamin thanked the Lord for this angel, even though his angel didn’t come from heaven, but Hessia, judging by the dialect.

With an exasperated growl, the captain let go of his prey, sitting down on his chair and dragging Benjamin with him.

“Winter? If it’s you, come in!”

Benjamin, who had expected to be put on his feet or a chair of his own in a hurry, realized with shock that the captain intended to receive the other man just the way they had sat here before.

“May I at least have my shirt!” he hissed, staring with disgust at his half-hard penis.

Von Innow took the soiled linen that had once been Benjamin’s shirt and covered his prisoner’s lap with it – resting his hand right _there_ , and giving Benjamin’s member a gentle squeeze. Benjamin froze, as did the man who entered the tent.

It was the officer with the dark complexion Benjamin had seen at the campfire, the one who had sneered about the treacherous Jesuits. _Great._

“Don’t be shy, Winter. Have a seat, and join us for dinner. But if you want wine, please refill the jug first,” von Innow said cheerfully, not in the least embarrassed by the situation.

From the casual way of addressing the other man, Benjamin deduced that the visitor must have been of the same rank as von Innow, though Captain Winter was dressed in brocade and expensive lace like a colonel.

“Well,” Winter started slowly, frowning at the display he was looking at and smirking then, when taking the pot, “now I know why my lieutenant and your batman stick in the same tent together!”

“As far as I know, they have been ‘sticking’ there for quite a while,” von Innow said, gesturing at the casks. “But you haven’t come to discuss my former servant with me, have you?”

“No, of course not.” Winter went to refill the jug. Opening the cask, he said, “It’s always a pleasure to visit your lair since you’ve got this wine.”

“Yes, my young friend here suspected I robbed a king.” Von Innow reached for the dish with the meat, took another slice and offered it to Benjamin, who shook his head. He was no trained animal that had to prove its trust by eating out of its owner’s hand, and if the captain intended to make him shut up by stuffing food into his mouth, the bastard had made a big mistake. Winter, if his thunderstruck expression was anything to go by, would not join von Innow in this deadly sin. All Benjamin had to do was to appeal to Winter’s conscience as a good Christian. _He won’t leave me in this demon’s claws!_

Unperturbed by Benjamin’s musings, von Innow ate the meat himself. “Help yourself,” he offered the dish to his guest, who returned to the table. “It’s really good.”

Captain Winter took off his hat and sat down on a chair opposite von Innow’s. Frowning at the table top, he pushed back his lace cuffs before he picked the knife up from the slippery wooden surface. He cut a neat slice off the bread and accurately put a piece of pork on it, taking care not to ruin his dress. He chewed with relish, helped himself to the wine, and after he had finished a good part of it, he said, “Actually, I came here to ask a favour of you…”

“And what would that be?” von Innow asked.

“Ah, well… concerning our operation areas of tomorrow… Would you like to change?”

“With reluctance, because I have some business at Naumburg to attend to,” von Innow replied, but seeing his comrade falter, he added, “Come now, speak truth. You don’t want to change our operation plans because of a young lady again?”

“Actually, she’s not that young,” Winter admitted with a frown.

“But wealthy?”

“Hm-hm.”

“Beautiful?”

“Sufficiently.” Winter frowned even more. “No, not really.”

Von Innow chuckled, hiding his face behind Benjamin’s shoulder.

“So what!” the other captain growled. “I don’t intend to spend my whole life like that!” With a wide gesture he pointed at the tent and everything inside. “Freezing my balls off because for the King the winter starts only when the horses are stuck in snowdrifts, dealing with that son of a bitch von Hassfurt or…” he stopped dead in his tracks, mumbling something under his breath and scowling at the table. Looking up, he added, “Some people expect more from life!”

“Yes, and that’s why they’ll never be happy,” von Innow shrugged. “Of course we can dream of big estates or of marrying rich merchants’ widows. But take a closer look at what we have,” he gestured at his tent, “we have a roof over our heads, we have food on the table and wine as well, and as for my balls I’m not afraid, because I’ve found this nice young lad who’ll keep them from freezing.” He put his arms around Benjamin and pulled him close.

“Don’t you dare!” Benjamin hissed.

“Yes, little priest, hell is waiting, I know. So, Winter, instead of running after the one amazingly beautiful, rich, and amiable young lady, find yourself a…”

Winter dismissed his waffle with a stern wave of his hand, staring at Benjamin with eyes as round as an owl’s. “This lad is a priest? Didn’t you tell us he was a printer?”

Von Innow shrugged. “He denies being a cleric, but all evidence is against him.”

“Does the Duke know?” the other captain asked in alarm.

“Of course he knows,” von Innow soothed him. “Come, my friend, I wouldn’t lie to my regiment commander, but to Hassfurt I do from time to time. That scoundrel doesn’t deserve better.”

“So you won’t hand this one over to the executioner either, as you were told?” Winter deduced with a sly grin.

“Of course not!” Von Innow’s arms tightened around Benjamin, and he frowned like thunder at his comrade. “You know what’s left of a man after three hours of torture!”

“Well, well,” Winter smiled, “so we have a deal then? I get the Naumburg area tomorrow, and for that I won’t tell the major who your catamite really is.”

“No!” von Innow said with emphasis. “You get the Naumburg area, but for that you’ll contact – _before_ you visit your lady – a merchant’s office and ask whether my oats are already available, and if so, you’ll send me a rider immediately.”

“What oats?” Winter asked, puzzled.

“I ordered fifty hundredweights of oats from a merchant called Kaufmann. You’ll find his office at the marketplace,” von Innow started to explain.

“What the heck do you want with fifty hundredweights of oats?”

“For my company’s horses,” von Innow said, frowning at his slow-witted comrade. “You know how badly off our horses are.”

“And _you_ bought them fodder!”

“Oh, come, Winter, why not! What the foragers can’t find, we have to buy…”

“But it’s not _we_ who’ll pay!” Winter hit the table top with a sharp slap. “What happens if that catches on? It’s the regiment’s _commander_ who pays the regiment and that means _he_ pays _everything_ , and if he doesn’t, it’s not us, some lowly company heads, who’ll spend their own money to mend what the big man forgets – or what von Hassfurt has shovelled into his own trunks again!”

Von Innow looked at him, taken aback. “Well, that’s one point of view,” he said somewhat lamely. “But I don’t like to see my soldiers nor their horses suffer from hunger. And if I had more cash available, be sure, I’d have ordered even more. So, will you contact the merchant or not? It’s just a few minutes, and if your lady is a rich one she’ll live near the marketplace anyway.”

With a growl, the other captain stood and put on his hat. “All right then. But you’re on thin ice with such a transgression, I tell you!”

“Since when is it a crime to keep one’s company in good shape!” von Innow shot back. “What I need is my riders fit to fight, in case Wallenstein is inclined to ‘visit’ us here. Everything else is secondary!”

“No, my friend, it’s not secondary!” Winter said with an edge, putting his fists on his hips. “Colonels are colonels, because they have the money to raise and pay a regiment, and we are captains, because we don’t have that money. And I won’t spend _my_ money to feed _Duke Bernhard’s_ horses. Look at you, and you’ll see how that ends: when you forget to put on your sash, you’re dressed like a common rider!  If you like it that way, be happy with that roof of canvas, two dishes, and a dirty prisoner on your lap, but don’t ruin your comrades with such a … mendicant’s style of living!”

Von Innow drew a deep breath and huffed it out before he answered. “You had better leave now before I feel offended, Winter.”

“I will. So what was your merchant’s name?”

“Kaufmann. And don’t forget to send me a rider if the oats are available.”

“I will. Thank you for the wine and food.” With a curt nod, Captain Winter left the tent.

“That bastard!” Benjamin couldn’t help himself. He felt offended too – but not so much by the remark about a dirty prisoner. “Why did you allow him to go to Naumburg, though he dared to speak to you in such an impertinent way!”

“Don’t start ranting at me too, will you?” the captain grumbled, reached for his mug and took a sip. “Better a happy Winter with his lady at Naumburg than a daydreaming commander of a reconnaissance team in the current situation. Mendicant’s style of living… hah!” He put down the mug. “This man has never had such a beautifully dirty prisoner in his arms!” Again his right hand landed on Benjamin’s lap, tugged the rest of the shirt away.

“And he would surely insist on a female prisoner!” Benjamin spat, flinching and then kicking back against von Innow’s leg with full force. “As you should too!”

His kick was answered with a hard slap to the nape of his neck that made him topple over. He was shoved from the chair, and landed face first on the ground, his sight greying for a brief moment.

“I told you not to kick!” the captain growled, stepping over Benjamin. “I might kick back, and I am wearing spurs!” Leather and sharp metal pressed against Benjamin’s right hip, and he answered with a groan when the star-shaped wheel poked into his flesh. Used with force, these spurs would slice a horse’s skin.

“I guess I made myself clear,” the captain said. “Get up, it’s bedtime.”

 

 

 

Benjamin shook his head. “Please don’t.” As much as he hated it: now he was begging.

Von Innow knelt beside him. “You’ll like it, I promise.”

“I won’t!” Benjamin’s hands clenched into white-knuckled fists. “Don’t you dare tell me what I’m expected to feel! And don’t expect me to indulge in this … god-awful buggery!”

“That’s what you’re really afraid of, little one, isn’t it? That you might like it.” Two fingers stroked down Benjamin’s spine.

“No! It’s against nature! It’s gross, and it’s an insult to God!”

“Neither.” The fingers were replaced by the full hand. “To flap your arms and to expect to fly up like a bird, that’s against nature. Or to want to stay under water for more than a few minutes without drowning. These are things the human body is not made for, so they are clearly against nature.” The captain’s hand skipped Benjamin’s bound wrists, cupped his buttock and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Everything the human body _can_ do is not against nature. Perhaps against the current morals, but not against nature.”

Benjamin rolled onto his side to shake off the touch, glaring at the captain. “The current morals? Yes, a fine moralist, that’s what you are! Molesting a bound man! And concerning what a human body can do – mine has to piss. But I don’t think you would like it to happen in your tent, be it natural or not!”

The captain grinned. “You have a point.” He stood up, dragging Benjamin to his feet. He even pulled up his prisoner’s trousers, made Benjamin hold the waistband behind his back. “Let’s go.”

Reprieve. Benjamin thanked the Lord above. One thing he had learned so far: he could distract the scoundrel by quarrelling. And quarrel he would! The captain’s definition of nature was lacking, of course: nature, in this case, was a man and a woman making a child, not fancies of comparing man to bird or fish!

Holding the end of the rope, the captain led Benjamin behind his tent, where a wagon stood. Four horses were tethered by it under a make-shift shed, the big Friesian among them. They were munching straw, but their heads came up and they snorted expectantly at the sight of their owner.  “Sorry lads, no extra food today,” the captain cooed at them, patting a sorrel with a broad blaze.

Benjamin looked at his captor, unsure if this was only a break on their way to a latrine, but the captain nodded at the horse droppings.

“And how am I to relieve myself with bound hands!” Benjamin hissed.

“Be inventive,” the captain mocked, stepping close, and Benjamin already feared that he would be groped again. But then, there was a loop of rope around his neck, and von Innow started to pick at the knots at his wrists. “Damn your wriggling, little one,” he muttered. “These got tight like irons.” A moment later, there was a cold metal blade flat against Benjamin’s arm, and with a few cuts the rope around his left wrist was gone.

“Thank you.” This was heartfelt, and the captain replied, “You’re welcome.”

His hands felt stiff and awkward, and it was embarrassing to be watched. Benjamin stared at the tents and the fires, trying desperately to ignore von Innow’s presence behind him. The campfires still burned, people were coming and going as if there was no night. Nobody took notice of a man with a rope around his neck and his cock in his hand, trying to piss and being unable to do so. Biting his lower lip, he stared at the fog that crept into the camp from the water, obscuring moon and stars. It was lit by the fires, tainting the night in hues of hell. A drum signal announced whatever the Swedes saw fit to do now, and from the other side of the camp cattle bellowed. _I want to get out of here!_ Benjamin prayed, _Lord have mercy on me…_

A tug at the rope, a rustle of fabric, and then the stench and sound of a man doing exactly what he was trying so hard to do helped him relax sufficiently to relieve himself. The blasted nature and its herd instincts worked even here! He almost laughed in despair when he bound the waistband of his trousers again.

“Ready?”

_For what?_ Benjamin nodded slowly. All right. He knew what the captain was up to, and he knew how to distract him from that – and if he had to dispute all night until his throat would be sore. After all, if there was one thing the Jesuits were famous for, it was their art of arguing their opponents down. Benjamin planned on being an exemplary Jesuit apprentice tonight.

Busy with plotting a line of argumentation against the human body’s ‘nature’, Benjamin didn’t pay much attention to the rider waiting in front of the tent. “Ah, there you are, Sir…”

That voice made Benjamin look up. Good God, no! The mule thief had returned! With a new hat, and on a big bay horse.

“What’s up, Hansen?” the captain asked. “Nice horse.”

“Oh, yes, Sir!” The man beamed. “While I was at the farrier’s in Naumburg, I had a closer look at this one’s jackets.” He acknowledged Benjamin with a nod. “There were some thalers in the lining, and a letter too.” He searched in his jackets and came up with a sealed letter. Benjamin’s letter of credence.

Benjamin closed his eyes. Now he was out.

Von Innow’s excited voice made him look up again. “Thank you, Hansen, good job. Now I’ll know who this boy really is. Judging from your new mount, he wasn’t so poor to be able to afford only a mule.”

“No, Sir,” the rider said cheerfully, “I wondered why too. But God bless you, boy, your money came at the right moment!” He patted the horse’s neck and nodded at Benjamin, who managed a weary sigh.

“All right, off with you then,” von Innow said. “We’re out early morning.”

“Yes, Sir!” A very happy cavalry man disappeared down the path.

And an even happier cavalry captain dragged his prisoner into his tent.

“Please let me explain…”

“No.” The captain pushed Benjamin to the bed at the back of the tent.

There was only one chance to fight and run. Now.

They only had to pass these boxes… Benjamin grabbed with his unbound left the captain’s rapier – and was down on his knees choking in the very next moment as the loop around his neck was pulled tight and a heavy fist hit his lower back.

“You’re no fighter, little one, so leave it be!” Von Innow’s comment hurt as much as his back did, and the rapier was kicked out of his reach.

Benjamin was pulled upright and then shoved onto the bed before he had regained breath. The officer sat on him, unwinding the rope from Benjamin’s neck and looping it around the headboard of a flat wooden bedstead, pulling Benjamin’s right arm up and securing it to the headboard by the wrist.

“Your left hand if you please, or do I have to beat you again?”

Cursing under his breath, Benjamin obeyed.

“Yes, I’ll burn in hell for that,” von Innow said unperturbed, binding his prisoner, “but didn’t you already tell me, that as a Lutheran I’ll burn anyway?”

“Yes, but how long and how badly…” Benjamin started with vigour, only to scream “No!” when his trousers were yanked down.

“You won’t kick!” Von Innow reminded him sternly, producing a dagger from behind his back. Benjamin’s heart started to race.

_No, no, no!_ _Don’t kill me, please, don’t hurt me!_

The captain tore Benjamin’s shoes off, cutting the laces. Trousers and stockings followed suit, and the remnants of the shirt were cut as quickly and skilfully as a hunter would skin a deer.

He was naked now, lying prostrate under a fully dressed man with a dagger in his hand. Benjamin closed his eyes and said a prayer in mind.

The weight left him, and the captain climbed off the bed. “So, let’s see…”

He went back to the table, fetched the candle and put it onto a trunk near his bed. Then he took off his jackboots and sat next to Benjamin on the bed.

He had a look at the letter’s seal. “IHS, oh-oh…” He broke it and unfolded the sheet of paper.

_Yes, it’s Latin, you son of a bear!_ Benjamin thought maliciously, when the captain squinted and took the candle from the trunk.

“…and are pleased to announce you Benjamin Kenneberg, one of our most promising apprentices for the position of assistant field chaplain in the Emperor’s glorious armada,” von Innow translated fluently, “Mister Kenneberg has taken his first vows, has the lower ordinations and has completed his novitiate and philosophy studies to our satisfaction. He’s a man of true calling and strict morals, though due to his youth he strives for adventure and has begged to spend his apostolic ministry with the Catholic armies. Therefore we hope you can put him to good use as well as the leaflets our brother… ordered… glorious victory... will of the Lord… Father Andreas Marx, Societas Jesu.”

The captain rested the hand with the letter on his thigh, turning his face to Benjamin and scrutinizing his prisoner, a smirk spreading over his face. “A man of strict morals striving for adventure, hmm?”

To Benjamin a ‘hmm’ had never ever sounded that ominous.

The captain stood and put the candle back on the trunk, folded the letter and carried it to a wooden box on top of the stack. He opened the box with a key and locked the letter in it.

Returning to the bed, von Innow started to undo the buttons of his jackets. Benjamin stared at him, paralyzed by fear. What to tell him to stop him yet? How to stop a man who didn’t fear hell itself?

Von Innow shrugged out of his jackets. “The Jesuits, my ass… So why go to hell when I already have a devil tethered to my bed?”

The lascivious purr in his voice made Benjamin’s guts knot. The captain undid the bows that tied his trousers to his doublet and stacked these clothes on the trunk as well as the layers of stockings and silk garter. When he started to take off his shirt, Benjamin turned away. He did not have to see this. He closed his eyes, and as if to mock him, there was Thomas again in his mind, sodomising his classmate.

Thomas, who had hidden an old poenitential among his books, abusing it for his Latin tutorials too. Deciphering all the smut around the sixth commandment, Benjamin had thought it was a boy’s prank to read about sins he wasn’t allowed to know until he became a priest.

From that, he had an idea of what to expect, and he knew that he didn’t want it. As if it had happened just yesterday, he remembered the boys caught in the act, flogged in front of their schoolmates and expelled, even though Thomas was the mayor’s youngest. Three weeks later, at a stroll over the market, Benjamin had learned by accident that Thomas had hung himself in the attic of his parents’ house.

The straw in the mattress rustled when von Innow joined Benjamin on the bed.  Naked. Not even wearing a nightshirt.

_Holy Mother of God, Mary ever Virgin, help me!_ Benjamin clutched at the headboard when the captain pulled a heap of woollen blankets over them both, snuggling against his prisoner. Benjamin gasped for air, when wiry hair and hot flesh pressed against his back, and a low voice rumbled, “And what a sweet devil I have caught…”

# Chapter 5

Sweet devil? Benjamin bit his lower lip not to scream. His brethren back in Mainz had called him names often – smart ass, hypocrite, and Judas – but a devil?

If anyone on this bed was the wicked one, then it was that dreadful captain who kissed his nape and nipped at the skin of his shoulders, growling like a bear and pawing Benjamin’s belly.

A rough hand stroked down and covered his abdomen. Benjamin tried to suppress a shiver. A broad thumb massaged the trail of hair that led from his navel down to that unruly thing down _there._

Benjamin panted with fear and tore at the rope that held his hands bound to the headboard – to no avail. Hidden behind the waggon with the last printing press the Jesuits could smuggle out of the city, he had witnessed a rape once, when last year the Swedish army had conquered Mainz. One unlucky wench had been caught by three drunken soldiers. He still heard her terrified screaming, ending in wails of pain, when the first man thrust into her.

Compared to that, the captain was kind. Or taking his time.

The other man’s skin felt oddly cool on his own, just not up on his shoulders, where a hot mouth greedily fell on every bit of skin in reach – and not down there, where an insistent penis was shoved between Benjamin’s thighs.

“DON’T!” Benjamin tried to wriggle free, but a hard grip on his hip-bone forced him back onto the other man’s lap.

Benjamin gagged when he felt the other man’s flesh nudge against his balls. There! Like David and Thomas had done. But they had had fun, until he had burst in.

He wished to cover his face in shame. Thomas’s poenitential would have condemned him to a one-year penance, or at least to three times 40 days of penance, should he dare to feel any lust now. The Jesuits’ discipline would be faster, but more painful.

“Easy, don’t be afraid, I won’t hurt you,” von Innow cooed. His hips rocked against Benjamin’s ass, and he moaned contentedly.

“You _are_ already hurting me!” Benjamin despised the whine in his voice and fought hard for steel in his words when he added, “You’ve read my letter of credence! You know I finished my novitiate, and by that I vowed chastity!”

“Ah, so I caught a white raven – a chaste cleric.”

Benjamin clenched his fists in rage. Yes, he knew about the bad reputation of the Catholic clergymen, of course he knew, but the captain’s mockery was uncalled for, unfounded, and purely malicious!

Though the Swede felt and smelt very earthly, all the theories about demons, the _incubi_ and _succubi_ who lay with man, came to his mind. Enough witches had told their interrogators that the devil had introduced himself to them in the shape of a handsome, charming cavalier – just to seduce them to sin and make them renounce their faith in God.

The only thing that spoke against this theory was, however, the fact, that the captain was neither handsome nor charming.

Benjamin, though, wasn’t sure at the moment that the Swedish captain with all his groaning and growling wouldn’t turn into something even uglier the very next moment and drag him down into the fires of hell.

He won’t win!

It’s just a trial!

It will pass!

Lord, have mercy on me!

“No!” He flinched when a hand groped his genitals and closed around his cock.

Von Innow’s breath in his ear made him shudder. “Shh. I’ll make it good for you. Just relax and enjoy yourself.”

Benjamin hid his head between his arms. “Enjoy! How am I to enjoy myself when forced into a sin that cries to heaven!”

Von Innow chuckled, “A sin that cries to heaven? What became of the good ol’ deadly sins?”

“You’re disgusting! How can you expect to inherit the kingdom of God while abusing yourself with mankind! Our bodies don’t belong to us, but to the Lord! With your fornication you’re dragging us into the dirt, making us worse than pigs… Ow!” He screamed when his penis was squeezed hard.

“I could gag you, you know,” the captain said casually, stroking Benjamin’s cock now with gentleness, “and I’ll do if you quote the Apostles now or any of those other hypocrites who started acting pious when they couldn’t get a hard-on anymore.”

“You truly deserve to burn!” Pure outrage made Benjamin shout. “How dare you! How dare you speak in such a manner of the venerable Church Fathers!”

To his surprise, the captain let go of him. In the next instant, however, Benjamin was pinned down on his back. The captain lay half on him, leaning in so close that his long hair was everywhere on Benjamin’s face. 

“Venerable?” von Innow asked with an edge. “I don’t think so. I’m quite sure Jesus would have told your beloved Apostle Paul off well and truly for his letters if he’d ever met him in person! As for the fornication, I’ll teach you a lesson and then you may tell me if there’s anything crying to heaven but you – for more!”

There was definitely anger in the heretic’s voice now, and Benjamin felt the man’s breath hot and wet on his face. It was too dark to see more than a black shadow descending to him. But in the darkness, there was a heavy body, stinking of animalistic arousal. Lips touched his cheek.

Benjamin jerked his head away and struggled in vain to turn onto his side. “Please don’t!” he begged. The next kiss hit the sore side of his neck. He hissed in pain; the captain’s stubble and whiskers were a rough brush on his abrasions.

Von Innow moved. Lower. With his left arm he held Benjamin down at the shoulders, and his right hand was free to roam Benjamin’s waist. He seemed to be fascinated by the flesh between the ribs and the hip-bone, kneaded it, as if Benjamin was sweet dough.

Benjamin bucked and kicked when the pit of his arm became the officer’s next target to nuzzle. But the captain was too close to cause him any harm. All Benjamin managed was to kick away the blankets and expose himself even more to the unwanted touch – as well as to the cold air.

“Yiii-iiieh!” was all that was left of Benjamin’s intended ‘You God-awful swine!’, when the captain licked the skin below the patch of hair.

“Ticklish, aren’t we?” The captain nipped again at the spot that made his prisoner squirm.

“Stop it!” Benjamin squeaked.

Von Innow laughed, “As you wish, love.” And with that insolence he pulled the blankets over his head and crawled deeper, kissing Benjamin’s belly.

His hand slid down too: his fingers mapped Benjamin’s hip and thigh like a reconnaissance party down to his knee – where they changed their route and started their conquest upwards.

Benjamin didn’t know what was worse: the captain’s tongue in his navel or that hand claiming possession of the inside of his thigh. The grip tightened bruisingly when Benjamin tried to evade, but when he relaxed, the captain’s grip relaxed too, and his thumb rubbed tenderly over skin and hair.

The kisses trailed downwards, and his penis, that damned thing, twitched with anticipation when the tender skin of Benjamin’s belly was sucked. Silken strands of hair already touched his cock.

_No, no, no! He can_ _’_ _t do_ that _!_ Benjamin squeezed his eyes shut. _Think of the beatings!_

Father Andreas and the cane, mercilessly beating his naked back, telling him that such a sinner would end up down in hell without any doubt and that it was all for his best. For his best, Father Andreas assured him, was also the worst: to be yanked around by his hair for the inspection, to determine whether he had got hard by the beating. The shame and the horror of seeing the last blow coming, a blow that punished his stiff flesh, making him pass out in pain.

Benjamin couldn’t bite back a horrified “No!” when the captain’s hand cupped his testicles. Now that would hurt! That would be punishment. He grabbed the headboard and waited for agony.

The captain’s blunt fingers, however, held him gently. They lifted his balls delicately, stroked the ugly skin of his scrotum, the coarse hair around it and down his thigh, then his balls again as if they were a venerable treasure and not part of his base animal nature.

He heard the captain purr something from under the blankets. He didn’t understand the words, but the scoundrel obviously enjoyed playing with this handful.

Benjamin shivered. His damnable flesh stirred, lusting to be touched. All too soon the captain would notice it…

Again Benjamin waited to be pulled out of bed to be beaten until his skin broke.

A wail left his mouth before he could fight it. The captain’s mouth had touched his penis.

“God, no!” Benjamin wriggled sideways. “Don’t!”

His cursed flesh, however, failed him in this mortifying situation and allied itself with the fiend, kissed to life and growing rapidly now. Benjamin gasped for air.

“Don’t! I beg you! You’ll make me do penance  for… oooh, damn…”

Von Innow’s lips closed around the tip of his penis. Before Benjamin could fight his own reaction, his hips bucked into the wet suction. The answering chuckle made him shudder and squirm.

Benjamin bit the inside of his arm to stop keening. Staring into the darkness of the tent, he remembered that cursed poenitential…

_Qui semen in os miserit VII annos poeniteat. Hoc pessimum malum._ – (The one) who ejected his semen in (another person’s) mouth, shall do penance for 7 years. It’s the worst evil.

The worst evil. It wasn’t fair! His cock that made his life so miserable by leading him into temptation every day, reacted eagerly and grew hard as if it had only waited for this special act of sodomy.

As if masturbation wasn’t bad enough! Though he had never heard of anyone getting burned for masturbation alone, for this he would burn for certain.

But even that thought couldn’t dampen the lust he suddenly felt when the mouth sank down on him again, wet and hot, the tongue stroking the length of his flesh repeatedly. He couldn’t help but thrust into the suction, moaning in protest when the mouth slid up again, leaving him wet and cold.

“Damn you…”

Von Innow chuckled, his breath so close to Benjamin’s cock that Benjamin wished to have his hands free, to grab that bastard’s mane, force his head back down and thrust into his mouth again. Benjamin groaned with anger and pulled against his ropes.

“Want more?”

At first, Benjamin wasn’t sure what were the fingers and what was the tongue, teasing the tip of his penis. But when he felt the lips too at the special spot at the underside of his cock, just below the head, he was lost. One long, sucking kiss right there, and he came, thrusting hard, all control gone.

The devil in his bed laughed out loud, straddled his hips and stretched out on top of him. Benjamin screamed in protest, and yet he couldn’t stop bucking against the other body, which clutched him close, making them a sweating pile of groaning pigs.

Brutal hands grabbed his face that was covered with kisses until the captain froze for a moment and fell down onto him with a grunt. He shivered as sticky liquid tainted their bodies.

Benjamin retched with disgust. “Wipe it off!”

“Hmm?” It was no more than a dreamy mumble.

“Wipe off that dirt!” Benjamin felt on the verge of hysteria. He could feel it trickling down his skin at his sides, but gluing him to that swine at his front. He started to squirm, and von Innow slid down off him, rolling onto his back and sighing contentedly.

“That’s no ‘dirt’, little one,” the captain yawned. Lazily, he moved his hand and stroked Benjamin’s hip with the back of his fingers.

“I don’t give a damn what you call it!” Benjamin shouted, “Wipe.It.Off! NOW!”

“Aww, really, you’re no fun, my white raven…” Again, Benjamin was buried under a mass of flesh bound for hell when the captain crawled over him to find the remnants of Benjamin’s shirt.

The Swede came up with a scrap that had been a sleeve this morning and cleaned Benjamin’s belly more than carelessly, muttering something about prudish church boys and their fear of nature. The only part he paid attention to was Benjamin’s penis, which was gently cleaned and placed onto the balls with a little pat.

Then von Innow pulled up the blankets, dragged his squirming prisoner into his arms and against his soiled body, yawned like a bear – and started to snore.

Trapped, Benjamin stared into the darkness, waiting for his chance to escape at least this embrace as soon as the beast would be sound asleep.

He didn’t make it, however. As soon as his life was not in danger anymore, his exhaustion took over and made him fall asleep in the middle of the _Miserere_.

*** 

The next morning they dragged him to the stake. Benjamin screamed and fought furiously against the executioner who pulled him by the rope around the wrists towards the fires. He flopped onto the ground, braced his feet against the dung-covered paving stones, but the big black-hooded figure mercilessly towed him towards the flames. Benjamin was pulled to his feet and chained at the stake, and the executioner smiled at him, and he had Thomas’ face, blazing in red flames. He leant in for a kiss, breathing fire. Benjamin screamed.

“Wake up, damn you!” A sharp slap hit him from nowhere, and with a gasp he started – and the fires were gone. All he saw was pale pre-dawn darkness, and his own breath, huffing clouds of steam.

“What was that about!” a Low German voice grumbled, and Benjamin realized that he was still in Captain von Innow’s bed. He sighed with relief.

“Just a bad dream…” His bound wrists, however, hurt as badly as they had in his dream.

A hand ran down his back and Benjamin realized that he was slick with sweat, and his heart was hammering in his chest. His throat felt sore – probably from screaming.

“Seems to me it was more than ‘just bad’,” the captain muttered.

“Well, you managed to get us at the stake!” Benjamin said, still wheezing. There had been no von Innow in his dream, but he saw no reason not to frighten that cursed heretic, too.

“Rubbish. The judges are too busy with witches these days to deal with such a little case of sodomy.” Von Innow stroked up Benjamin’s arm, checked the too tight ropes. Benjamin hissed with pain. While haunted by this nightmare, he had fought so furiously that the rough hemp rope had eaten into his skin.

“Please, couldn’t you loosen them a little bit?” he asked. “It hurts and my hands feel numb already.”

“Shit.” Von Innow got up and draped one of the many blankets that made his bedding around his shoulders.

It didn’t help to soothe Benjamin, however, that the other man crouched down at the bucket with the embers and started to poke around in them. He picked one and blew on it carefully until it started to glow again at one end, colouring his face in eerie reds and deep shadows. Thankfully he used it to light a candle, but no pile of fire wood.

With the candle in hand, he returned and scrutinized the rope around Benjamin’s wrists. The candle light made the smeared blood glisten.

Von Innow started fumbling with the bond. “Listen, boy. If you give me your word of honour not to run nor to attack me, but to stay as my prisoner on ransom, I’ll untie that rope and leave it off, agreed?”

“I won’t run, if you in turn promise not to molest me.” It was probably stupid to impose conditions, but it was out before Benjamin had the time to regret it. Von Innow sighed.

“Well, it’s true what they say about Jesuits – that bunch always wants to have the last word!” He loosened the first knot. “So, do I have your word?”

“If I have yours, yes, then you’ll have mine.”

“You have my word.” Von Innow untied him. The left hand was freed first, and Benjamin literally licked his wound, trying to suck off the dirt and clean away the blood. His right wrist looked only slightly better. Yet he couldn’t believe his luck: he – as the main foe in the writings of Protestant propaganda – was kept on his word of honor!

The captain crawled under the blankets again, and Benjamin hurried to make good use of his regained freedom by pulling the inner blanket tightly around himself.

Putting his arms on the blankets like every good boy would, he glared at the Swede whose amused pout showed him how ridiculous the other man considered his modesty.

The captain blew out the candle and settled into the blankets. He was still too close for Benjamin’s liking, but he didn’t touch him. Like Benjamin, he lay on his back, but didn’t expose his arms and shoulders to the cold air.

“So it was the stake…” he said after a while, and Benjamin was surprised that the man was still awake. “Have you ever seen people burn?”

“Witches,” Benjamin said warily.

“And? Do you think they deserved it?”

“Of course you will tell me now that there is no witchcraft,” the Jesuit apprentice said, annoyed. That was no topic for pillow talk. He remembered that summer morning back in Mainz too well. The bloodthirsty crowd, the stench and the screams of the one mad woman the executioners hadn’t strangled before they lit the fires. The jeer of his fellow novices when he had thrown up as her hair started to burn. The bully Bruckmann, a classmate of Thomas, calling him not only a Judas, but a witch lover too.

“Yes, of course ‘The worst heresy is not believing in witchcraft’,” the captain sneered.

“The question of witchcraft is a highly controversial one within our Order,” Benjamin said, “And I would rather like to sleep, thank you, Sir.”

The captain fell silent for a while, and the moment Benjamin thought he would start to snore again, von Innow said, “I consulted a witch once, you know. It was a complete failure.”

Benjamin sat up with a start. “You consulted a witch?!” There were so many of discussions about witchcraft and witch trials among the Jesuits at the moment, that he wasn’t sure what to think about the topic himself, but he was quite sure that he wouldn’t want to share a bed with the devil’s ilk – or their customers.

“And what did you want from her?” he asked warily. What if the devil would seek out a witch – would he call it ‘consulting’?

Von Innow snorted. “I asked for better weather.”

“For better weather?” Benjamin echoed incredously. “But witches make _bad_ weather. They don’t do anything good!”

“That’s the point,” the captain said. “But in my defence I have to say that I was just ten years old back then. Look, it had already been raining for weeks, though it was supposed to be spring. The grain went bad on the fields, but in my ten-year-old mind, I was only afraid that the ring-riding tournament at the sunday after Whitsun would be cancelled. I had trained so hard and was so eager to impress my brothers and cousins, but the yard had already turned into mud, and under these conditions it was unlikely that my cousins would be allowed a visit at all. My mother told me to pray eagerly for better weather, but when the good Lord sent the more clouds the closer the big day came – and He knows I did pray eagerly – I thought up the cunning plan to consult the woman who was said to be a witch.”

“Let me guess,” Benjamin quipped with a growing sense of malicious satisfaction. “Because the Lord punishes those of small faith, all you got was a cold and you had to stay in bed during the tournament.”

“No, it was my mother who punished me,” von Innow said, and his smile was audible in his voice. “Of course, I had no means to pay the witch, so I started with a raid on the larder when the cook and the maidservants were busy elsewhere. A bottle of Rhine wine, a big chunk of a cheese I didn’t like anyway and a pot of honey seemed to be an excellent offer, and with that in a basket I set out on my adventure. Of course I was afraid: all the servants and peasants referred to her only as ‘the witch’, though my father said that it was only a slander. Years ago, her husband had died in terrible pain and convulsions, and the peasants said she had cast a spell on him for beating her so much; my father, however, told us that the man had died of rabies and that it was no loss because there was now a drunkard and poacher less in our villages. But well, you can never know, and I _was_ scared when I knocked on the door of her hut. She was a woman in her late twenties then, with russet hair like yours, but looking careworn and ill. Of course she recognized me as one of the lord of the manor’s sons, and she asked me in. I have to admit, I didn’t dare. So I stood there soaking wet and offered her the food if she would do some magic for me.”

“And she took the food, but the weather became worse,” Benjamin suggested when von Innow paused and settled deeper into the blankets.

“No,” the captain said, his voice sad. “She started to cry. She simply stood in the doorway and cried. I stared at her, completely mortified but didn’t understand why she was sobbing so hard. At the end she shouted at me ‘Look around, stupid! My cabbage is flooded just like in everyone else’s garden. Wish I could make weather! I really would, but I can’t! Nobody can, don’t you see?’ Looking at the poor state her home and garden was in, I felt more than just stupid. And I was afraid because she looked as if she would beat me the very next moment. So I pressed the basket into her hands and retreated very hastily. When I came home, my theft had been discovered, and my mother gave me a good hiding with the dog whip she normally used on my older brothers. The weather, by the way, stayed as bad as before.”

Benjamin snorted, faintly amused. He liked Lady von Innow right now.

“Yes, you can laugh, brat!”

“And because that woman was only _suspected_ to be a witch you consider them all harmless, don’t you?”

“When you look at it closely, it comes down to slander every time,” the captain said. “Or do you really believe that they lie with the devil and all that?”

Benjamin moved away from the captain. Sorcery wasn’t just slander every time! Nobody would be so mad to assume that – except he had a special reason to play it down ...

“But you aren’t the devil, are you?” he asked warily. If the man was the devil he had to reveal himself now.

Von Innow answered with an exasperated growl and turned onto his side facing away from Benjamin. “Sometimes I wish I were the devil. Then I would stick Wallenstein and the Emperor into hell where they belong – together with all the Jesuits, well, all but one. And yes, as a devil I would make _better_ weather – or at least find us accommodation for the winter…” He yawned again. “And a more accommodating bedmate for me.”

Soon, the snoring started again. But raised in the dormitory of a Jesuit school, Benjamin was used to the noise level.

He stared into the darkness.

_At least,_ he thought with relief, _he already wishes for someone else to share his sins ... Prisoner on ransom, like a captive officer, a nobleman. That_ _’_ _s better than I could hope for!_

He drifted off to sleep with a certain feeling of security. Though he was bound by his word of honour to a despicable heretic for a while, it could have been much worse – the Lord was with him.

 

***

 

When Benjamin came awake, he was imagining for a few blissful moments to be a little boy again, snuggled amidst his siblings in the big bed above the kitchen.

“Damn you, old man, I know your ‘half the company is on horseback already’! You’re lucky if the first man has left his tent to piss!”

No, that was definitely no sibling’s voice. Benjamin realized that the comfortable warmth against his back was the cursed cavalry captain, who had put an arm around him.

“As the company’s captain you should be the first man up, master!” an old man’s voice groused, and things were thrown onto the blankets. “Where’s your exemplary function? Why should all these lazybones and shirkers respect their captain if said captain is still in bed at dawn?”

“The only one who doesn’t respect me is you, Karl!” von Innow growled. “Get me some hot water.”

“Hot water? A gentleman doesn’t need hot water! A gentleman wouldn’t need to wash at all.” Karl’s voice trailed away like the shuffle of his feet. “First grunting and squeaking all night long like a bunch of mad piglets, so that no honest man can get a wink of sleep, and then demanding hot water. Are we in France or what?”

“I wish we were,” von Innow muttered and leant in to peck a kiss on the crown of Benjamin’s head. “Morning, little one.”

“You swore not to molest me!” Benjamin wriggled out of von Innow’s grip. When he sat up to glare reproachfully at the ruffian, he found himself sitting in a wet sticky spot on the blanket they had lain on, a spot he had left himself, judging from its position.

Von Innow chuckled.

“What’s so funny!”

“Your face.” The captain smiled. “As if you found a dead rat under your blanket.”

Benjamin turned his face away. _Finding a living bear-sized rat is more than enough, thank you!_ he craved to exclaim, but he bit his tongue. “I’d like to wash myself too,” he said, his voice strained.

“Ah, well.” A big hand groped for him and found his left knee. “It’ll take Karl some time to get us the water. Come, let’s make it worth it.”

“No!” Benjamin jumped out of bed, hissing in surprise when he found the ground frozen over. In the dim light of a lantern Karl had put onto the table, he spotted his trousers and shoes. They were stiff from the cold, the shoes' leather probably ruined by the water. ~~~~

In a fit of anger not befitting a prospective priest, he flung them onto the ground. “Great!”

“I’ll tell Karl to get you new clothes,” von Innow said. “And now come into bed before you catch a cold.”

“You won’t touch me!”

A long sigh was the answer, and von Innow put his folded hands onto the blankets. “Of all the thousands of ravens I had to catch the white one. Fortuna hates me.”

Warily, Benjamin crawled under the blankets again. “Listen, I’m really grateful that you saved my life and will exchange me for ransom, but everything else is … I don’t like it.”

“Of course.”

Benjamin wanted to jump at this smug bastard to strangle him. He bit his lower lip and counted the millennia until Karl returned with a bucket of steaming water. The old man put it in front of the bed, his face a study in disapproval. Then he busied himself with taking a new shirt for his master from a trunk together with a cloth, a towel and a small jar.

With a dramatic moan, the captain got up.

The servant handed him his washing utensils, still frowning. “I’ll have the leftovers warmed up at the kitchen tent,” he announced and left the tent with the two dishes from last night’s dinner.

Benjamin watched von Innow open the jar. It looked like the ones in which physicians kept ointments, and the content smelled of herbs, of perfume actually. It was a half-liquid soap, he realized, when the captain started to lather himself with it. Stolen, Benjamin suspected, because such a luxury didn’t fit von Innow’s mendicant style of living that Captain Winter had ranted at.

He was about to turn his back to von Innow, when the memory of physicians and ointments led him to a shocking idea: the pox. Last night he had not thought about this sinners' disease at all, but he should have a proper look at the captain to search for a rash and all those signs of that disease the brothers in the Hospital had shown him during his novitiate.

_God, no!_ He squeezed his eyes shut, covering his face with his hands. _And if he_ _’_ _s ill? It_ _’_ _s up to the Lord to make me ill too, but_ _…_

He forced himself to look at the captain who stood bent over the bucket and cursed the cold.  Von Innow was thin, too thin for a man of his station who would be expected to have a stately paunch. He had some scars on his arms, and there was one his chest too: like a cut from a rapier, clearly visible, because the captain’s chest was almost as hairless as a boy’s.

Von Innow looked up. “Well, do you like what you’re ogling?”

“No!” Benjamin turned around. A glimpse was enough to see that the man was hung like a horse, despite the cold air. Benjamin shivered, disgusted by the captain’s insolence to present himself stark naked.

He didn’t dare turn until he heard the rustle of fabric. The captain was dressing. When Benjamin risked a glance after a while, von Innow was putting on his boots, followed by the spurs, buffcoat, sash, and hat. Then he hung the big sword on his belt and put on his gloves. Properly dressed, he didn’t look like the fiend from hell he was, but like a respectable cavalry man.

“You’ll help Karl in order to earn your food from now on,” the captain said and left the tent. It was still dark outside.

For Benjamin, it was the morning of the 14th of November in the year of our Lord 1632. For Captain von Innow and the Swedish army, it was the 4th of November – as Protestants they could not accept a calendar reform Pope Gregory XIII. had ordered.

# Chapter 6

Helping Karl meant carrying water, carrying horse fodder, horse droppings, firewood, the captain’s share of food the army provided, and water again.

Benjamin dunked the buckets deep in the river. All his lugging hadn’t earned him any food so far. He was sick with hunger and hate.

It had taken Karl quite some time to bring him new clothes, a time Benjamin had spent with using up von Innow’s soap. Served the heretic right. After all, Benjamin had to wash away the man’s sweat and semen from his own skin. He still shivered in revulsion every time he remembered the officer’s heated body clutching at his own, tainting him.

After some hesitation, he had overcome his disgust at using the same water as von Innow. At least, the hospital brothers back in Mainz claimed, that it wasn’t the water that carried diseases but the fact that almost every bathhouse was a brothel too:  the pox was the Lord’s punishment for the sins of the flesh.

_I was not voluntarily in it!_ Benjamin told himself again and again. And yet the flesh was haunting him as soon as he remembered last night. Despite all his efforts to ignore these thoughts, the soap hadn’t washed off the memory of how arousing a hot, sucking mouth had felt around his cock. He gritted his teeth and dunked his forearms deeper into the water to cool down. _If I don’t get rid of this, I’ll deserve the pox…_

“Hey you, are you fishing or what?”

Benjamin frowned at the woman who had snapped at him and pulled the buckets out of the water. The camp was full of women and of children as well. Hundreds of them were carrying water in the light of dawn, and there was quite a crowd at the bank. Next to them, horses and cattle were led to the water to drink. But not the captain’s horses, oh no! They got every bucket full of water served to them! And they got their food, before the horse boy was allowed to eat. Horse boy, that was what Karl had told him: ‘I don’t give a damn if you’re the pope himself. Here you’re a horse boy, and now move!’

Cursing Karl and sneezing repeatedly, Benjamin took his buckets and climbed up the embankment to return to the part of the camp where light blue cornets marked the place of von Innow’s regiment. The King’s German Life Regiment of Horse, Karl had crowed about. Great, Benjamin thought, so one comes down to serve the Antichrist himself! By carrying water!

Looking for the sun, a milky spot close over the horizon and not easy to detect today, he spotted three riders careering towards the camp at full gallop. This was an odd contrast to the slow awakening in the camp. He watched them for a moment longer, until he could discern colours in the morning mist. The first one rode a big black horse.

Benjamin hurried to the tents, this time not perturbed by the buckets’ weight. This might get to be interesting.

 

***

 

Karl was grooming the bay horse when Benjamin returned with only half-filled buckets and splashed trousers.

“The captain is coming back in quite a hurry. Perhaps Wallenstein and the Imperialist army are already after him!” Benjamin couldn’t suppress a triumphant grin.

Karl put the brush onto the wagon. “Stop smirking, fool, and get the other saddle from the tent! Hurry!”

When Benjamin returned with a worn-out, heavy saddle, Karl took it single-handedly and tossed a blanket at him in return: “Run and keep that damned Friesian covered and walking while the captain reports. I’ll bring the bay in a minute.”

Benjamin had an idea, where the captain would report if he was in such a haste. So he trotted up the path to the king’s tent, just to see von Innow jump from his horse, pass the King’s bodyguards and disappear into the big tent.

One of the captain’s men took the black horse by the reins. The horses were steaming with sweat, and the men let them walk up and down the place before the king’s tent. Benjamin was sure that they did care better for the beasts than he knew how to, but curiosity made him stride out towards them.

“I bring the blanket for the captain’s horse,” he said, holding up the stinking cloth for evidence. Carefully, he unfolded the blanket and put it on the wary animal’s back.

Tugging the blanket into place, he noticed the captain’s wheel-lock pistols in their holsters in front of the saddle. The pistol butts were dark and smooth from long use, the weapons’ sulphurous smell of black powder stronger than the holster leather’s, and Benjamin wondered if he would be able to end the war by snatching these guns, rushing into the tent and shooting King Gustavus Adolphus.

Not if the bodyguards around the tent had any say in this matter. Their halberds looked awfully sharp, and Benjamin almost anticipated the pain the blades would cause running through his guts. He remembered the Archbishop of Mainz boasting about how many boars he had skewered in his woods, happily ignoring the fact that hunting was forbidden for a clergyman. As a good would-be Jesuit, Benjamin had never attended one of those hunts, but he knew how stuck pigs screamed. He would have a dozen men to pass and to make out the king among many more men, all of them armed with rapiers…

Unbidden, the memory of a discussion in his philosophy lessons returned: about killing tyrants. It had been a bright day in mid-June, so hot that he imagined being back in old Greece, and in the rose bush outside the study bumblebees hummed. The dispute had ended with the agreement that they, as men of God, weren’t allowed to kill, but would forgive easily the brave man who freed Christendom from an unjust ruler.

Now, it was misty winter, and the supposed brave man was nowhere to be seen. After a second glance at the sturdy bodyguards, Benjamin tugged the blanket forward over the horse’s shoulders. Perhaps there would be a better opportunity. One which included a fast, fresh horse to escape, instead of being stabbed by a dozen halberds.

But with an unholy glee he realized that he would have liked to use the captain’s weapons for this assassination, just to make the bastard suffer.

There would be a better opportunity. Some day, the king would leave his tent.

He turned to the rider, who held the horse. “What’s going on that you’re home in such a hurry?”

But the man ignored him, talking to his own horse boy. This one was a child of perhaps ten years, and he had brought no blankets, but food for the riders and beer. The soldier tossed the reins at Benjamin.

Obviously he had yet to learn how a horse boy served his rider properly, Benjamin mused with annoyance, when he saw the man smile at the child, who lifted up a big jug, the little face reddening with exertion.

The flap of the king’s tent opened, and an officer barked an order Benjamin didn’t understand.

In answer, however, a drummer started to beat on his instrument with a vigour as if to destroy it. The black horse jumped back, reared and snapped its reins. Losing the blanket in an abrupt turn, it stormed off straight through the camp.

“Damned fool!” Enraged, the rider threw his jug at Benjamin’s head. Benjamin managed to duck, but was showered in brown beer. The riders went after the horse, leaving a bedraggled Benjamin behind, exposed to the bodyguards’ laughter. The drummer laughed too, not losing the beat for one moment.

The drum called the officers to the king’s tent.

Captain Winter was among those lace collars as well as the major, whom both captains despised. But there were many elder, richly dressed men too, the colonels and generals maybe. Running. Surely this horse-scaring thunder was alarm. Benjamin picked up the blanket. Watching the officers’ concerned frowns made up for his humiliation.

The little boy picked up the jug and called Benjamin the son of a mangy bitch and wished plague and pox upon him. Behind the sutlers’ stalls several tents gave way, women yelled, swearing furiously.

Benjamin sighed. Great!

Seeing Karl coming down the path on the captain’s bay did not make him happier either.

“Where’s the goddamn nag!” Karl ranted at once, dismounting stiffly.

“It ran when the drummer…” Benjamin started angrily, but Karl didn’t pay him notice, because von Innow was coming out of the tent.

The captain was frowning like his fellow officers. But unlike them, he was flushed – and fighting hard to suppress a grin.

A young, narrow-faced man with long dark curls rushed after him, smirking.

The captain turned towards him as soon as they had passed the bodyguards.

“Jesus Christ, Innow!” the young officer almost giggled. “Of course you’ll get dragoons, but let me do the talking next time! It’s not your station to tell his Majesty what to do next, man!”

The captain sketched a bow, looking all but guilt-ridden. “My apologies, your Highness. But with some reinforcements we could…”

“Of course! But leave it to the generals to come up with that idea, will you?” The Highness patted von Innow’s shoulder. It was funny to watch, because the nobleman was a tad smaller than Benjamin and had to reach up to touch this subordinate’s shoulder. The captain accepted it with a fond smile.

“It won’t happen again, Sir,” he promised sincerely.

“As if I didn’t knew you and your big mouth! And now get us some prisoners to interrogate.” With that, the young officer returned to the tent, almost bouncing.

Benjamin stared at him with disbelief. The heretics were not disturbed at all! When von Innow detected him and Karl, the captain’s smile grew wider. His walk became a stride, and Benjamin braced himself for the next taunt.

“Where’s the black one and my riders?” von Innow asked instead, puzzled.

“That fool let it run!” Karl grumbled.

“The drummer scared it away!” Benjamin insisted with vigour.

The captain sighed, mounting the bay horse.

“I told you, this nag is only good for making sausages of it!” Karl told his master in a stern voice, “The stupid beast will break your back one day!”

“It’s a young, badly trained horse, and it will learn. In case it doesn’t, I’ll let von Hassfurt win it back.” Von Innow bowed down and added in a stage-whisper, “You should have seen his face when I managed to fire a pistol from its back and it didn’t topple over!”

The old man grinned, obviously mollified.

“Captain!” The riders returned, leading the black horse by the reins. The horse was bathed in white sweat and breathing heavily, but aside from an abrasion it looked unharmed.

“Your stallion got tangled in the whores’ tents!” the red-bearded rider exclaimed for everyone to hear. “Prepare to have some ladies in your tent tonight who’ll claim damages!”

“Oh hell!” With a broad grin, the captain gestured at Karl to give him the pistols from the black horse’s saddle. He fixed the holsters at the saddle horn. ”Let’s run, lads.”

He winked at Benjamin and spurred his horse on.

 

***

 

Karl led the Friesian horse back to the captain’s tent. Benjamin followed him, angry at himself and at the glances the old man shot at him from time to time. They were full of malicious glee.

“Next time please tell me about a horse’s habits,” Benjamin said petulantly. “And with some soup in my stomach, I’d have been stronger…”

“Ah well, so that’s the way the wind is blowing!” Karl snarled, but to Benjamin’s astonishment, he pointed at the tent, “Get yourself some bread, and bring me some beer, and hurry, we can’t risk to lose the captain’s pet to a cold!”

The captain’s share of food was still stacked on the table. Benjamin took a jug of beer and cut a loaf of bread into several chunks. He had neither order nor allowance to touch the bacon, but he cut a thick slice from it and stuffed it into his mouth. That was the way a day should start. Putting down the knife, he realized that it was the same knife that had been on the table last night, when the captain had claimed his “dessert”. Shame and anger made him blush, and his first idea was to ram the knife into the oak wood of the table to ruin the blade that had witnessed the rape.

On the other hand … He cast a glance at the tent entrance to check that Karl wasn’t about to enter. Carefully he opened the drawer. There was silver cutlery in it as well as some sturdy iron knives and wooden spoons, which he would expect in a peasant’s kitchen. He chose a simple knife with a sharp point and a wooden handle and hid it in the blue woollen jacket he was wearing now that he was forced to be part of the Antichrist's army. Should the captain dare to molest him again, it would be his last attempt ever to rape anyone.

Benjamin took the beer and the bread and went over to Karl, attempting to look grateful and at peace.

Karl, in the meantime, had challenged a gaunt youth to ride the black stallion. “Let him trot slowly, that’s the easiest way to get a horse dry in cold weather,” he lectured.

The boy nodded, fascinated by the stately horse he was allowed to ride.

Karl turned to Benjamin when the boy was gone. “I take it you weren’t eager to ride this one?”

“Clergymen don’t ride horses,” Benjamin said condescendingly – and made Karl splutter with amusement.

“And where has the major got that horse, hey? I’ll tell you: from an abbot's stable! And it wasn’t the only one! But the duke wangled the other ones out of the major’s possession, and then he lost the last and biggest one at cards! That’s the reason why he runs after the captain all the time: proposing the next game of chance!” He soaked a piece of bread into the beer to make work easier for the few teeth he had left. “But telling everyone else that the King forbade cards and dice. That’s our major!”

Benjamin nodded, swallowing the bacon. “And the officer in the green doublet who told the captain not to boss the king around, who’s that?”

“Well, that was the duke –  Bernhard of Saxe-Weimar, our regiment commander.” He snorted when he saw Benjamin’s stunned expression. “What’s wrong?”

“I expected a regiment commander to be … well, older.”

Karl shrugged and washed down the bread with beer. “Don’t get fooled by looks. Who’d think that a whelp like you is a Jesuit? There. Young Bernhard is a shrewd strategist. His older brother Wilhelm, however,” he pointed to the camp’s east side, “not so much. He calls himself Lieutenant-General, but his regiment is down to a company’s strength. And there’s another Saxe-Weimar brother in the King’s service. Breed like rabbits in that family. Eleven lads, just the legal ones, mind you.”

Benjamin nodded slowly. He realized that the old man’s gossip might prove a valuable source of strategic information. He was about to ask questions that might reveal the king’s habits when a drum was beaten again.

In surprise, Karl almost spat the beer out.

More drums answered in the camp’s alleys. People started to hurry.

“What does it mean?” Benjamin asked.

“We have to get ready to march!”

Karl hadn’t lied last night when he claimed to have some authority among the wagons. Though every pair of hands was busy now, he managed to order two more men to load the captain’s belongings onto the wagon. “Only the captain’s bed and trunk remain in the tent for now! Hurry!”

While Benjamin had expected the wooden casks to be heavy (and heavy they were), the boxes turned out to weigh like stones. “What’s in it?! The Emperor’s treasure?” he groaned, lifting the second box.

“Books!” Karl snorted, wheezing. “Funny somehow … The old Innow ruined his estate by buying books, and the young one wants to buy it back by selling them.”

“And what kind of books?”

“What kind of books, what kind of books? Do I look like spending my time with stupid books!” Karl huffed and puffed, and the other men with the next box where cursing too.

“Were all that was left for us … in that damned monastery. The Major took the horses, his men the cattle and stuff, but we had to run into the smoke to save these bloody papist books!” one of the baggage train menials spat, “Captain said it would be a shame to have them burned. I say, it’s a shame that they didn’t burn: ashes fly!”

When they had to carry the next box, Benjamin tried to peek through a gap in the boards. All he saw was fabric, tent canvas probably.

“Which abbey was it?” he asked.

“Who cares, Bavaria is full of them.”

_I care!_ Benjamin thought. The Swedes had robbed the libraries of the Archbishop of Mainz and of the Prince Bishop of Würzburg. Perhaps, if the Lord was with him, he could make negotiations on the captain’s books part of the negotiations on his ransom. The captain’s claims would certainly be insolent, if he intended to buy land, but it might be a chance to win a church treasure back, instead of having it shipped to Sweden, too. When he put the box down onto the wagon, he handled it with utmost care.

 

***

 

The camp buzzed with rumours. Though Karl didn’t let Benjamin out of his sight, the old man was as curious as everybody else and hung around at the sutlers’ stalls. During the day Benjamin learnt that the Imperialists, who had camped only a few miles east at Weissenfels for the last four days, had gathered this morning in battle formation, but then sent the baggage train away as well as some artillery detachments. “If that’s not Wallenstein’s latest dirty trick, he’s dissolving his army for winter!” one of von Innow’s riders said cheerfully. “Thank God! I hope we’re too in warm houses soon!”

The heretics’ mood grew brighter with every hour. A young dragoon with a bright red moustache claimed to know that Wallenstein himself had withdrawn for the winter  to his headquarters at the castle of Lützen.

“Lützen is a dump,” his comrade contradicted. “Bet they’ll spend the winter in Leipzig!”

“So you’ll besiege Leipzig?” Benjamin asked the soldier.

“A siege in winter? Are you mad, boy?” The dragoons laughed wholeheartedly.

Benjamin dreaded the idea of spending a whole winter in the same house with Captain von Innow. Secretly, he felt for the knife under his jacket.

 

***

 

The captain and his reconnaissance team returned at mid-afternoon. One of the men presented a gash in the skirt of his buffcoat a shot had left, but Benjamin couldn’t listen to the whole tale of how they had run into a few Imperialist Croats, because he had to tend to the horses again.

Lugging water, Benjamin saw the company’s field kitchen staff busy themselves with roasting pigs and sheep. There would be a feast as if the war was already won.

When Benjamin returned into the tent to snatch some bread and bacon, the captain was at home, digging through his trunk. He pulled out another doublet and breeches. “Help me with the boots, will you?” He sat down onto his bed.

_Hah, so I don’t deserve a ‘please’ anymore?_ Warily squinting his eyes, Benjamin scrutinized the officer.

“I’d like to change for church service,” von Innow explained, “and I have to hurry.”

“All right.” Of course Benjamin didn’t step over the man’s outstretched leg to grab the boot and risk being kicked – slowly, but nevertheless touched there – into his butt. Facing von Innow, he pulled off the boot, remembering well, that the captain hadn't needed any help last night. The other boot came off, too, and von Innow stood up and started to undress.

Benjamin averted his eyes.

“Is it true that the Emperor’s army goes to winter accommodation?” he asked the question that had haunted him all day long.

“Well, it seems the gout is biting old Wallenstein so badly out here that he’ll leave us alone.” Von Innow shrugged out off his buffcoat.

“And what are you going to do?”

The captain snorted as if that was a terribly stupid question.

Benjamin glanced at him with disfavour. The captain’s silence was a noticeable change in comparison with his talkativeness yesterday.

“Will you attack them?” Benjamin hazarded a guess.

“Well, if the king decides to attack, we’ll attack. If the king decides to take a break for the winter too, we’ll do that. As you might have noticed this morning, I’m not allowed to give orders to the king, and he doesn’t generally share this plans with me,” von Innow said, glancing meaningfully at Benjamin. He undid the bows that held his breeches to his doublet. Benjamin turned away, scowling.

“And is it true that they went back to Leipzig?” he continued with his own reconnaissance mission.

“No, as far as I could see, they are still wearing out the Duke of Saxony’s hospitality at Weissenfels,” von Innow chuckled.

“Weissenfels has a duke too?” Benjamin mocked. “Saxony is obviously blessed with quite a lot of dukes!”

“Yes, it’s a fertile region,” von Innow agreed. “As a Mecklenburgian, one might become ashamed of having only two.”

“As far as I remember, there’s only _one_ duke of Mecklenburg and that’s General Wallenstein,” Benjamin replied, turning to von Innow and raising one eyebrow.

The look he got in return spoke of murder. “Never ever say that again, understood!” the captain snarled, “Our dukes might be not the brightest, but I rather die than become subject of this Bohemian scoundrel!” Though stripped down to his shirt and hose, he still managed to look dangerous.

“But your dukes were outlawed for high treason. They conspired twice with foreign kings against the Emperor!” Benjamin objected carefully.

“And rightfully so!” the captain barked at him. He put on a sand-coloured doublet in a flourish that showed his agitation just as much as the angry growl in his voice did. “Because the Emperor is nothing but a Jesuit puppet! He has to be neutral in religious matters, but in fact he’s conspiring against his Protestant subjects!”

“He’s concerned for your souls!” Benjamin tried to soothe. “Your so-called reformation brings the Lord’s wrath upon us, don’t you see it! All the havoc around us…”

“Is made by man! By some princes who’re not able to get enough of robbing each other! And by nasty little zealots like you! Pretending to be the Lord’s servants and preaching that we fulfil the Lord’s will by slaying each other instead of preaching peace! But then you had to live with the fact that not everybody grovels before you! And that’s so unbearable that you prefer the peace of the graveyards to peace between the confessions, isn’t it?!”

Aghast, Benjamin stared at the heretic, who busied himself with putting on brown breeches.

“If you have such a bleak outlook on preachers in general, why do go to your ‘church service’ at all?”

“As an officer, I’m expected to attend.” Von Innow started to thread the breeches’ points through the doublet’s eyelets, frowning at the many ribbons. “Come on, help me with this, I’ll be late.”

Benjamin frowned at the menial task as well as upon the officer’s godlessness. He did von Innow the favour of helping him with his breeches, taking care not to touch the man himself. “But you wouldn’t attend if you were not forced to? Don’t you think God will punish you for your pride?”

Von Innow sighed, annoyed. “God stopped caring for my pleas a long time ago. And now leave it be, I’ll hear a homily in a few minutes, I don’t need another one in my tent.”

“But your soul …”

“My soul, Father Benjamin, would be in _heaven_ if I was allowed to do some rather sinful things to a certain servant of the Lord. To ‘save’ my soul is not your mission here, thank you very much!”

Benjamin tugged at the next ribbons with extra vigour, hoping to hurt the blasphemer, but the breeches were too baggy for that. “I don’t know why I should care at all that you’ll burn in eternity!”

Von Innow chuckled, tying the last ribbon at the front. “It’s nice to hear, however, that you care for me at all.”

“Oh, go to hell!” Enraged, Benjamin let go of his task.

Von Innow didn’t mind the last two unbound points and wrapped the sash around his waist. In the sand-coloured doublet with its green ribbons and buttons he looked almost elegant.

“To hell? You can’t go to where you already are. And we _are_ already in hell, Benjamin, believe me,” he said, putting on his boots. “Now excuse me. By the way, if you want to see a priest of your confession, the Scottish snipers have one. His Latin sounds rather funny, however.” He put on his hat and grabbed his rapier. “Or would you like watch to a Protestant church service?”

Benjamin crossed himself. “And get excommunicated? Are you mad?”

Von Innow shrugged, “I thought it more as a kind of reconnaissance mission. To learn that we don’t eat little children and to see whom actually you want to convert.”

In holy ire Benjamin raised a fist to the heretic, “Nobody can demand of me to be thus tolerant to bear your mockery of the Holy Mass!”

Taken aback, von Innow stared at him for an extended moment. After regaining his evil wits he exclaimed, “The Lord save us from tolerant priests! In the end they might make us love our enemies!” With that he ran to indulge in unholy rites and to belittle liturgy by the use of the commoners’ language.

“Blasphemer!” Benjamin hissed after him. “May you die miserably and rot and may nobody ever remember your name!”

Having spoken his curse, Benjamin didn’t feel better, but miserable himself. He looked for a dry spot on the ground, knelt and started to pray to save at least his own soul in this madness that was called the world.

Some prayers later, he heard them sing. Hundreds of people, perhaps thousands. He tried to ignore it for quite some time, but could not, for it was too loud. He wondered repeatedly how Captain von Innow intended to praise the Lord, when he considered himself already in hell.

After the singing stopped, the devil started to nag him, asking him what was so bad about a reconnaissance mission: ‘Why not watch the heretics, as long as one doesn’t participate in their rites? Why not learn what their preachers tell the misled? Those preachers hold no power, because they lack the apostolic consecration, so neither their blessing nor a curse will harm you. And if you want to convert heretics, you’ll _have_ to know what exactly they do to show them the error of their ways.’

Benjamin chewed on his lower lip. Father Andreas had told him often enough to trust his eyes, to explore things instead of relying on the books, so why not explore the heretics’ rites too?

Benjamin peered outside the tent. Karl was at the field kitchen, chatting with the maids. Benjamin went to the wagon and took one of the beer jugs Karl had emptied during the day. Nobody would suspect a servant on his way to the sutlers, even if he dawdled around the place where a heretic preacher was now speaking.

Benjamin sneaked closer.

They started to give Holy Communion, or what passed for Holy Communion among them, without transubstanation and the Lord’s presence. Nevertheless they seemed to be very serious about it.

The chubby blond man in the richly embroidered buffcoat was the first to go to the altar. Benjamin recognized his profile from Protestant leaflets, praising him as the saviour of the Protestant cause. So this was the Lion from Midnight? Benjamin frowned, disappointed. It was _not_ some untalented copperplate engraver’s fault but nature’s that the king resembled more a fat chicken than a lion.

And yet it was him, who had laid waste to southern Germany, plundering on purpose all ecclesiastical cities and properties.

 

 

(King Gustavus II Adolphus of Sweden, painting by Matthias Merian, 17th century)

 

I should go back, get the pistols and shoot that git! Benjamin scowled. But again, he saw no way to escape from the camp after his heroic deed. To his shame, suffering martyrdom had very little appeal to him.

Instead he watched the officers receive communion, too. The young duke was among the first, who followed the King.

Benjamin wondered what it would be like to celebrate the Eucharist himself: after the war was won, and all these rebels would be either dead or converted to the true faith. As the Emperor had said once: He’d rather rule a desert than a country full of heretics.

Hugging the jug close, Benjamin waited to see what von Innow would do: if he actually had the insolence to step forward. Of course he did. Tall as he was, he was easy to spot among his fellows. The Major went first, two men followed, then von Innow, Captain Winter and some officers more. They knelt down in front of the preacher, as if they were good Christians. Benjamin blushed at the memory of how often he had received Communion despite not really deserving it.

What would he do if he had von Innow on his knees in front of him? Drive the sinner away, because a converted von Innow would be surely the same hypocrite he was now. He had no illusion about the worth of most converts: just look at General Wallenstein ...

But the devil, who had made him watch this blasphemous ceremony, whispered at him what else he could do with the captain on his knees. Disgusted with himself, Benjamin turned and strode back to the tent, cursing the devil and his lewd illusions.

He slammed the pewter jug onto the trunk, where in the meantime Karl had put a pot of wine and mugs. The cups rattled, but didn’t topple over.

Benjamin knelt down in the same spot where he had prayed before.

Praying didn’t come easy this time. The devil refused to leave and haunted him with obscenities, showing him von Innow open his mouth not to his hand holding the host, but holding his cock, and swallow his erect flesh in rapt devotion.

Benjamin’s hands clenched into fists. _Go away! Go to hell where you belong! I don’t want this!_

‘Tsk-tsk. You’re one to talk! Did anyone hear you scream for help last night, hmm?’ the demon teased. ‘And what kind of result of your reconnaissance is that? You, hard and dreaming of getting sucked off by that ugly fellow! Great theological insight, he-he!’

Benjamin snarled like a devil himself.

He gave his treacherous member a hard squeeze, cursing at the pain he inflicted on himself, and swearing even more when his cock grew instead of flagging as soon as he regained breath and the pain decreased.

‘You see,’ the devil snickered, ‘hurting yourself doesn’t work either. If we remember the outcome of your castigation sessions correctly, I’d suggest you simply jerk off, wash your hands of the matter and be a good boy again without having your back bleeding first. Look, just in case you have to run, being injured would be disadvantageous, wouldn’t it?’

_Yes. In case I have to run._

‘Think about it!’ the demon chattered eagerly, “And by the way, if you’re honest, it wouldn’t be anything new for you to kneel down to pray, but end up with your hand in your pants.’

_I’m not in my cell at home, but among the enemy! Imagine he returns! I represent my Order. I can’t…_

‘But he isn’t here, is he? He has to attend to his hocus-pocus. He kneels in front of someone else, bowing his head, pretending to be a good boy – like you do. Wouldn’t you like it to have him at your feet, at your command, hmm? No need to blush. He’s just a bloody heretic beyond redemption, and you, you can always repent and confess … later. Like so many of your Brethren do. Just tell them he forced you. You have bruises enough to bear your false witness.’

With an angry groan, Benjamin bent until his forehead touched the ground.

_But I am not like these hypocrites! If I have to be a priest, I’ll be a good one! Not one of those who preach purity and wallow in sin afterwards!_

‘I say!’ the demon tutted at him, ‘That coming from the boy who looked with lust even at his teachers? You _are_ wallowing in sin every day, boy! If not in the flesh then in thought. You _are_ already a disgrace for your Order. A Jesuit would be able to think of God now and ignore his own body! And a not-so-good Jesuit would _do_ something, instead of lying on his knees, wallowing in self-pity and only prolonging the inevitable.’

Benjamin gritted his teeth. To jerk off would be the most reasonable solution to get rid of this shameful state before von Innow returned and jumped to conclusions – or at him.

The mere thought of the captain jumping at him, tearing down his trousers to kiss him _there_ again, made his penis twitch.

It was so disgusting!

He had been so proud, so satisfied that he could resist the temptations of the flesh much better than his school-mates who peeped after every girl and told prurient stories about priests and women. Women who came to church under the pretext of confession, but had no other aim than to pile more sins onto their souls. Benjamin had been the only one who hadn't been waiting eagerly to meet such a daughter of Eve.

And now all it took was an arrogant bastard of the Swedish army to prove him wrong.

He pressed his hand into his lap to keep that throbbing flesh down that rubbed against his trousers. But soon, he had to press harder, and the friction the heel of his hand caused through the cloth made the demon sigh. ‘Ah, there, doesn’t it feel good?’

_No. It doesn’t! It’s just your machinations!_

And yet that insight wouldn’t help him if the captain returned. Who would be certainly delighted with finding a hard, panting boy in front of his bed.

With shaking fingers, Benjamin opened the waistband of his trousers, well knowing that he was bound for hell.

As shameful as it was, it felt good to grab hold of his flesh. It always did, though it shouldn’t. As did everything else the devil himself suggested. He squeezed it again, but this time not so hard. _You have to get rid of it, not enjoy it!_ he admonished himself, stroking himself vigorously. _Hurry, before the heretics are done._

‘ _That_ heretic. Who would be happy to lend a hand or two,’ the devil cooed. ‘Remember him fondling your balls? You didn’t know that it would feel that good, did you? Ah, and his mouth around your flesh, all hot and wet. Sucking. Makes you get even harder just remembering it, doesn’t it? Imagine how that would feel, having _him_ bound for a change? Having him bound at your feet, as your prisoner. You, grabbing his hair, forcing his head forward, thrusting deeper. He’s all yours, all yours, and he deserves it!’

Benjamin gasped. He would love it, yes. Love it. And come hard, ejecting his semen into the other man’s mouth, making him swallow it this time to leave no evidence.

_God. Yes!_ He managed to bite back a groan as he came. Shuddering, he tainted the ground, for a moment lost in bliss.

Until conscience kicked in and he looked around, afraid to see a smirking captain in the tent entrance.

But he was alone.

Sighing, he scratched some soil over the stain, wiped his hands on his trousers. He bound the waistband and stood up, his knees trembling.

The devil was gone, leaving him with bitter self-loathing. _If I don’t get rid of this habit soon, what kind of clergyman does that make me?_

‘One as common as everyone else,’ the devil quipped, peeking out of his hiding-place.

_Yes, probably,_ Benjamin admitted, deeply disappointed with himself. _A hypocrite like everyone else._

He moaned and flopped down onto the bed. Just a moment until his legs would be willing to carry him to the field kitchen. He lay down, his feet and the muddy shoes hanging off the bed. Just a moment. He would not sleep and risk being surprised by the nasty captain, oh no. He pulled a blanket over him. _Just a moment …_

 

***

 

_Executor_. That word made him wake up with a start.

The man, a dark silhouette holding up a lantern, was too small to be von Innow, and the captain’s voice came from near the tent entrance.

“I interrogated him myself. He’s no threat, and I’ll exchange him for ransom as soon as the way to Leipzig is clear.”

“But I gave you an order, Captain!” A sharp voice, spitting the last two syllables.

Benjamin squinted. The man with the lantern was Major von Hassfurt. Behind von Innow stood two more men: Captain Winter and another officer Benjamin had not seen before.

“Of course, Sir. But I had the outcome in mind, and our executor is said to overdo things now that he has new apprentices to teach. I’d rather have a sound prisoner to exchange than someone tortured. That would feed only the Catholic propaganda.  On the other hand, if I return an unharmed man, I might negotiate a high ransom, buy myself another horse and might be able to return to you the one you miss so badly.”

The major snorted with contempt. “And in the meantime you have this one to mount, don’t you?” he sneered. “Ah, come on, Innow, everybody knows about your taste in young men! First that branded bastard, now a papist … makes one wonder who’ll share your bed next. A Turk maybe?”

“Sir! That’s …”

“That’s what?!” The major’s left hand grabbed the sheath of his rapier.

“Gentlemen, didn’t we come here for a cup of wine and a game of cards?” Captain Winter stepped between the two glaring men. “Duke Bernhard wouldn’t be pleased to explain to the king why his officers are duelling in disregard of the king’s order.”

“But disregarding my orders is all right for you, isn’t it?” the major snapped. “This will have consequences, Innow! And you, Winter, should think about your loyalties!” With that, he rushed off.

“Phew.” The third man shook his head. “Didn’t _he_ insist on gambling? Despite the king’s order?”

Von Innow huffed out a breath. “Well, Lieutenant, this is exactly the reason why we won’t make a career into the higher ranks: we’re simply not capable of such refined distinctions.”

The lieutenant chuckled, but Captain Winter scowled at the other captain.

“You better go after him and apologize, Innow.”

“For what! That bastard insulted me! And if he runs to the Duke and complains, well, then you’ll see how _I_ will complain about the pay we haven't got since the paymaster died and Hassfurt manoeuvred himself into that post!”

“Nevertheless _you have_ this young man in your bed.” Winter frowned at Benjamin.

“Christ almighty, yes I have!” von Innow exclaimed, “So what? Six miles east, there’s Wallenstein’s army, and we waste our time with discussing morals? This is ridiculous, devoid of any sense!”

Winter answered with an angry growl, “You wouldn’t even see sense if you were already kneeling bound at the executioner’s feet. There’s no sense in irritating the man the Duke trusts almost blindly. And all because of a stupid horse and a ... well.” He glared at Benjamin as if the prisoner were responsible for Innow’s lack of wits and morals. “I don’t wish to discuss this further. As you said, Wallenstein’s still at Weissenfels – and nobody can tell what trick this cunning devil might have thought up with this retreat. I had better go and get my company fed. You set a bad example even in this.” The anger in Winter’s voice dwindled to resignation, and he shook his head.

“There are no war articles that forbid buying one’s company an extra ration.” Von Innow gestured at Benjamin to bring the wine.

Winter signalled his refusal. “We discussed that already. See you in the morning,” he said and left the tent.

The Lieutenant moved as if to follow, but stayed behind, pulling a face as if he had a bad tooth. “May I have a word with you in private, Captain?”

“Of course,” von Innow said, obviously regarding Benjamin as not present, now that he fulfilled a servant’s task.

“It’s about Alexander.” The Lieutenant managed to ignore Benjamin too, though he accepted the mug.

Von Innow sighed, slightly annoyed. “Let me guess. You want to enrol him as soldier, but Winter refuses.”

The younger officer nodded. “My captain calls him a coward and a thief.”

“Well,” von Innow said slowly. His frown vanished when he glanced at Benjamin who gave him a cup of wine. “Help yourself,” he said in a quieter voice, what made Benjamin frown in return.

_I’m not your damned servant, that you need to talk to me in hushed tones!_ Pouting, he sat down on the trunk, but thought better of it and actually poured himself a mug. Taking a sip, he scrutinized the lieutenant, a man in his late twenties like Duke Bernhard. He wasn’t handsome either. Benjamin wondered why Alexander had chosen this pockmarked companion.

Von Innow watched the young officer with a scowl. “I’m sorry to disappoint you in this matter, Lieutenant,” he said in a courteous, formal voice, looking then into his cup instead of at the man he talked to. “It’s not the grudge of a disappointed lover that makes me say this, but it’s a fact that not everybody is cut out to be soldier. I had Alexander with me as my horse boy in two battles and two more skirmishes. But as soon as the cannons started to roar or a company of musketeers gave fire, my Alexander was gone along with my horses. When it came to looting after the battle, he was among the first to return, threatening in the most impertinent way the soldiers, who had fought bravely. But he never brought back my horses. If he were a soldier, he would have been hanged long ago. Even a horse boy would hang for being such a coward and cruel looter. When talking didn’t change his behaviour, I had him flogged and then branded, because ... well, of course you can’t beat bravery into a man, but I hoped to tone down his impertinence. All I achieved, however, was his hate. Therefore,” von Innow raised his cup as if in a toast, “I’m sort of relieved to be rid of him, and I don’t envy you. Keep him as your valet, as your scribe, as a courtier even when you return home, but don’t make him a soldier. Despite that scar, he’s too beautiful to hang from the gallows.”

The lieutenant swallowed hard. He downed his wine and nodded. “Well, I had hoped for more positive information.”

“I’m sorry,” von Innow replied.

The lieutenant put the cup onto the trunk. “Thank you for the wine,” he said, his voice polite, but flat. ”Now I have to find myself a capable horse boy for tomorrow. Damn.” He looked deeply disappointed.

“I wish you good luck,” von Innow said encouragingly. “All those train lads I employed that Karl scared away with his constant grousing would be happy to serve you – if you manage to keep Alexander out of their hair.”

“Then the old man will ride with you again – or this one?” The lieutenant tried a lighter tone of voice, glancing curiously at Benjamin.

“Karl, of course.” The captain shrugged. “Our Benjamin here loves the Imperialists too much to entrust him with my horses.”

The lieutenant forced himself to smile. He sketched a bow. “Good night, Captain.”

“Good night,” von Innow replied. After the younger officer had left the tent, he murmured, “Though I doubt you’ll have one ...”

He finished his wine, squared his shoulders and looked at Benjamin, who scrutinized him in return. “Now, what about dinner at the field kitchen?”

Benjamin nodded, putting a hand onto his empty stomach. “That would be a kindness.”

“Then let’s go.”

At the field kitchen, the whole company and their women and children had gathered – a crowd that came easily up to the number of inhabitants of the village near Mainz where Benjamin had been born. Among them, Benjamin spotted the mule-thief Hansen hugging a woman who was as gaunt as him, but obviously pregnant. The cuirassier with the black teeth was talking to the blue-jacket guy, and the riders, who had driven him into the green pond, were present as well.

They cheered when the captain appeared, but von Innow signalled them to stop: “No need to make a fuss about it, lads. Let’s eat.”

The pigs and sheep were stripped of their meat, and soup kettles were emptied at an amazing speed.

The captain, the sergeant, and three other men made a stack of firewood their dining room. Karl sat down next to them, gesturing at Benjamin to stay beside him. As the captain’s servants they got their share from his ration.

The men at the captain’s ‘table’ turned out to be the company’s lieutenant, cornet, and trumpeter. The lieutenant and the trumpeter looked like seasoned fighters, men the captain had chosen himself for their tasks. The cornet however was a youth whose fanciful dress and haughty manners spoke of such a fine origin that Benjamin was sure that the captain had been saddled with some superior’s offspring and that said offspring was just experiencing his first weeks in the field – and hating every minute of it.

Yet it was that slim young man who spoke up first: “Does this feast mean we’ll actually go for the Imperialists tomorrow?”

Soldiers turned to their superiors, and the cheerful chatting around them died down. Lieutenant, sergeant, and trumpeter hooted in unison at the youngster, and von Innow took his time to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand before he answered in a teasing tone. “Eager to have the bullets buzz around you again, young Count?”

The young man blushed, but von Innow continued, before his fellows started to sneer at the young man, “Perhaps we’ll fight, perhaps we go to winter accommodation, as well. We’ll see. Everything depends now on Wallenstein’s next move.”

“But the dragoons say he isn't moving,” one soldier remarked. “Only some artillery we spotted on the road.”

“ _Only some_ artillery?” von Innow put down his plate and stood up. The soldier didn’t flinch, but looked uneasy now.

“Gentlemen! By sending them away, the Imperialists have stripped themselves of  their ability to win a battle! So if you ask my personal opinion: yes, we should use that opportunity and attack them! These gits made a big fat mistake by underestimating our ability to operate despite cold weather! Let’s get our revenge for the disgrace in Bavaria! Let’s drive them back to the south where they belong! If we have to smash that bunch in battle first – all right, let’s finish them off, and if they run without fighting – even better! The aim is to get them _out_ of Saxony before they can nest here for the winter and strip the country bare of _our_ food!”

Von Innow paused to observe the effect his speech was having on his men, and indeed they gathered around him, and they did not look afraid, but eager. “Therefore,” the captain continued, “after supper, I expect you to prepare your horses, armour and weapons. Say your prayers, give your ladies a good cuddle, and be ready to march before dawn. This time, Wallenstein’s march to the north ends _here_! God with us!”

“God with us!” the men shouted, some even cheered, and Benjamin flinched. He finished his piece of pork, but his appetite was gone.

The Swedes were ready to wage another attack! This was the worst one could expect.

Back in his tent, Captain von Innow put his own words into practice. He refilled the powder flask and bullet pouch, had a look at the pistol pyrites and fixed an additional spanner for the wheel-locks at his belt.

“Which horse do you want to ride tomorrow?” Karl asked. He had watched his master’s preparations in silence so far.

“One of the sorrels,” the captain said, “In case we fight, I’ll lose the first one anyway.”

“Why not take the black one then?” Karl teased and left the tent.

Von Innow murmured something under his breath and dug the parts of a cuirass out of his trunk. He frowned at the dented breastplate and ran his fingers over the crater a bullet had left. The backplate followed, the protection for arms and thighs as well, black iron without any ornament but cuts and scratches. There was no helmet.

Benjamin felt cold just from watching the scarred metal, and involuntarily hugged himself. He imagined this armour-plated giant fighting his way through the Emperor’s army.

The captain turned to him, looking at him with a troubled face. “You haven't caught a cold, have you?”

Benjamin almost laughed. That man was preparing for a battle, and wasted thoughts on a prisoner’s health? He shook his head. “No.”

“Ah, well ...” Von Innow nodded slowly. He shut the trunk, and gestured at the bed next to Benjamin. “Please sit down. There’s one thing I’d like to talk about with you.”

This sounded serious enough, and Benjamin obeyed. The captain sat down on the trunk.

“You gave me your word you wouldn't run,” the officer said in a grave voice. “And believe me, I know how you feel by now, seeing us preparing to fight the army you want to be part of.”

Benjamin clenched his teeth and nodded. He didn’t manage to look the captain in the eye, watched the man’s slightly folded paws instead. Big, blunt hands that handled the pistols with such ease and moved now in a soothing gesture to defuse their owner’s words.

“I know as well that the promise of a cleric is easily given if said cleric sees it fit to resort to a ruse to fight what he regards as heresy.”

This time Benjamin managed to look up. With a thunderous glare. Of course that heretic bastard would rake up the case of Jan Hus now! They always did!

“Believe me this, Benjamin, Wallenstein does his reconnaissance as we do ours. I don’t want to doubt your word of honour. But should you feel any obligation to run and warn them ...” The trace of a smile on the captain’s face showed Benjamin that the other man read his thoughts like a book. “There is _no_ need to do that. They watch us like we watch them. Furthermore, our guards are on alert. They have orders to shoot any deserter. There is no way to sneak out of the camp now without being killed, believe me. For a mouse perhaps, but not for a man, adventurous though he might be.”

Benjamin drew a deep breath. It was disturbing how well the captain knew the thoughts that had haunted him since supper. And he couldn’t bear von Innow’s concerned tone. The captain mocking, sneering, taunting, that he could deal with, but he didn’t want the man’s concern, his sympathy even!

“What on earth makes you doubt my word of honour!” he said with the coldest contempt he could muster.

Von Innow blinked once. “Experience,” he replied in an equally cool voice.

For a long moment Benjamin managed to mirror the man’s stare, then he busied himself with scratching at his sore wrist to have an excuse to break eye contact.

The captain took a deep breath.

“A man’s word of honour is the only thread that ties the world together these days,” he said in a pensive tone of voice. “If this thread breaks too, there’s only chaos.”

“Interesting concept for a man who considers himself in hell already,” Benjamin quipped, ”Wouldn’t that be the ultimate chaos? And what’s honour worth in hell, Captain?”

Von Innow smiled, genuinely amused. “Honestly I have no idea. The basis for tricking the devil, I hope.”

Benjamin sighed, but had to smile too. “Somehow I have the feeling you would try even that.”

“Try?” von Innow replied, mock-insulted. “Of course I’d _do_ it!”

Benjamin chuckled, but without mirth. “It’ll take more than a dented cuirass to avoid the devil, Captain.” He hated himself for his concern, but for some odd reason he didn’t want von Innow to burn in eternity, should the man die tomorrow.

The captain’s face fell, and he looked at his armour. “I know,” he said in small voice.

“Would you like to pray with me?” Benjamin suggested carefully. Perhaps there was salvation even for a heretic.

Von Innow looked up with a tired smile. “Are you trying to seduce me, little priest?”

Benjamin frowned angrily. “No. And if you want no help, forget about it!”

The captain sighed. “I’ll pray, believe me. The moment I ride into the fire of the lined-up Imperialist army, I am a Christian as good as everybody else.”

Benjamin squinted his eyes. “But you’re not looking forward to it, don’t you? You’re not sure if you can ‘smash the bunch in battle’!” He fought to hide the triumph in his voice, but to no avail.

“Of course I’m not looking forward to a battle,” von Innow said edgily. “Nobody does! Have you ever been in one? A real battle, not just us besieging Mainz for a few days and the city surrenders.”

Benjamin shook his head.

“Well, then imagine this: In front of you – don’t scowl at me, little Jesuit, your archbishop _is_ a coward, there is no excuse for that.” Von Innow waved his hand dismissively. “Come on, close your eyes and contemplate this: In front of you, there’s an army. Twenty thousand,  thirty thousand men. Half of them cavalry these days. They line up over more than a mile. In their centre, there are musketeer regiments, surrounded by pikemen. On the wings, there are the cavalry regiments mixed with detachments of musketeers and their pikemen, who have no other aim than to skewer your horse and _you_ should you attack them and the musketeers they defend. The artillery is mostly behind them, firing over their heads into _your_ rows. But some light cannons are already positioned in front of them to shoot at a flat angle to take not a few men out, but many. And then you ride. A horse’s length in front of the hundred men who are your company, probably two companies more at your side, some more behind yours. The cavalry men you attack won’t fire yet. They leave that to the detachments of five hundred musketeers on their left and right. It’s only a two or three minutes’ canter to close the distance to the enemies’ lines, but a good musketeer fires three times in a minute. And there’s their artillery. The guns are vanishing by now in grey powder smoke, but are firing so hard that you’re almost deaf. From the corner of your eye, you see the first horses fall head over heels with their riders. Pray that your horse is still running! All _you_ have is two shots and a sword. And you have to wait before you fire, at least until there are only three steps in gallop left. Otherwise you won’t hit anything – or just by chance. You fire, and the other riders shoot back _now_. Three steps in gallop, remember that: You have barely the time to push the pistols back into the holsters and to produce your sword – and then you crash. And God help you if you didn’t manage to take down at least one of the men in front of you or his horse. Provided _your_ horse is still on its feet. If not, if you fall _now_ , your own company, the companies behind your own _and_ the counter-attack is running over you. Do you understand now why I’m not ‘looking forward’ to anything like that?”

Benjamin nodded, impressed. He had not dared close his eyes, not with the captain only two steps away, and he still stared at the man who had painted such a vivid picture, gesturing with his hands that Benjamin almost saw the reins, the pistols, the sword. And suddenly the horse stumbling, vanishing with its rider in the chaos of hooves and falling bodies.

“Did that happen to you once?” he asked, “Being run over, I mean.”

The captain nodded. “Not a thing I’d like to repeat,” he said and rose off the trunk. “And now that I made myself aware of all the trouble laying in wait for me, I have to sleep. Great!”

He left the tent, leaving Benjamin alone to wonder how to behave now that he was not bound. That damnable thing down _there_ expressed its interest.

The captain was back after a few minutes. He smiled when he saw his prisoner in bed already.

Truth to be told, Benjamin had decided not to help the captain with his boots again. And after crawling under the blankets he had managed to hide the knife between the headboard of the bed and the straw bag. Just in case. His hands folded on the blankets, Benjamin gazed sternly at the officer.

Von Innow put his hat, his rapier and sash onto the trunk, and sat down on the bed to remove his boots. With a little huffing and cursing he managed it soon enough.

Then he climbed under the blankets.

Benjamin was relieved that the man hadn’t undressed further, though it was probably due to the alarm state the camp was in and not out of modesty.

His relief turned into his own alarm state however, when the Swede – or Mecklenburgian insurgent as he knew by now – crawled close, snuggling up to him with a contented moan.

“Well, Captain,” Banjamin said, trying hard to sound as sarcastic as possible, “In case you didn’t notice last night, I am no ‘lady’, therefore there’s no need to ‘cuddle’ me!”

Von Innow chuckled. “I’m not that picky when it comes to ‘cuddling’,” he said, putting an arm around Benjamin and nuzzling his shoulder.

Benjamin shrugged vigorously. “A few minutes ago you gave me such a solemn speech about a man’s word of honour,” he snarled. “But if I remember our agreement correctly, _you_ promised in return not to molest me!”

The captain let go of him. “You’re a cruel man, Benjamin,” he moaned and turned away.

“There’s no cruelty in behaving like a good Christian, Captain von Innow!” Benjamin replied angrily. “In the night before a battle, you should repent your sins and pray instead of committing even more sins!”

The captain gave a derisive laugh. “What do you know, greenhorn! Don’t you wonder why the whores didn’t show up to claim damages for the havoc my horse created? They’re so busy tonight that they won’t manage one step away from their beds until dawn!”

Benjamin didn’t deign to answer him.

“God isn’t so petty-minded as to peep under our blankets, you know,” the captain started another advance. “When I was with a man for the first time, that is, two men actually, there was a...”

“Pater noster, qui es in caelis, sanctificetur Nomen tuum. Adveniat regnum tuum. Fiat voluntas tua, sicut in caelo et in terra. Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie, et dimitte nobis debita nostra sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris. Et ne nos inducas in tentationem, sed libera nos a malo,“ Benjamin prayed with extra emphasis on the last five words: _but deliver us from evil_.

Von Innow groaned and pulled a blanket over his head.

Though this should have settled things, Benjamin found he could not sleep. And from von Innow’s side of the bed there was no snoring either.

Benjamin felt he should talk to von Innow. It was his duty as a Christian to save the misled souls. But how to save the soul of a man who wanted no guidance? Whatever he would say, the captain would probably answer pruriently ... Two men? How could that be? A rape perhaps? Unlikely. Some drunken comrades, probably. But who would like to bed a man like the captain?

‘Well, perhaps he was easier on the eye in younger years,’ the devil remarked, ‘But if you’re honest, when he smiles, he isn’t so ugly, at all. And these big hands of his felt rather good cupping your balls, didn’t they?’

_Stop that at once!_ Benjamin clenched his fists. _I will not risk my own soul for a few moments of guilty pleasure!_

Von Innow moaned and stirred, and Benjamin braced himself for the next advance. One that might be successful, because his treacherous body longed to be touched. _There_.

_I will not have it!_

One thing he had learned to perfection in the Jesuit dormitory was to fake sleep. Slowly, he evened out his breath, breathing deeply in a rhythm that would lead him to sleep eventually. It might not deceive the patres who went through this school on their own time, but it was a good enough ruse for everybody else.

To von Innow, he must have sounded like sleeping already – unable to hear any more lewd suggestions – though he wasn’t asleep. Far from it. His cock kept him awake. That damned thing and the lewd devil, whispering that it wouldn’t be that bad if the captain took advantage of him. As long as it qualified somehow as rape, there would be no guilt upon him …

The captain, however, kept his word of honour in his own way. After a while pretending to be asleep, Benjamin felt the other man move under the blankets. He knew this rhythm all too well: The man beside him was pleasuring himself – silently, not to wake his bedfellow, perhaps with no other aim than to exhaust himself enough to be able to sleep.

Benjamin who had already felt drowsy from his breathing exercise, was wide awake now. They shared the same blankets, the same bag of straw, therefore a ripple of each move ended up on his side of the bed. It was enough to make his own cock stir again. The man’s ragged breathing, muffled through the blanket he had hidden himself under, made him want to jump at von Innow, beat that insolent sinner black and blue, grab him by the hair and shove his own cock into that panting mouth.

But he would not! He would _not_! He clenched his fists so hard that the nails dug painfully into his palms. No, he would not give in to sin. Perhaps the Lord had meant von Innow to be his trial. He was not Saint Anthony who was beleaguered by wild beasts and demons the artists loved to paint – or taunted by a naked woman the artists loved to paint even more. He was Deacon Benjamin Kenneberg, and all he got was a Swede.

But perhaps that was the rightful punishment for the Judas, who was responsible for the death of his admired school friend.

‘Admired? Why don’t you admit that you were _lusting_ for him?’ the devil asked sternly.

_I wasn’t! I didn’t know it, until … that day. The day I learned that I_ desired _him. Somehow ..._

‘Well, and now you wish you had lied to Father Andreas, hadn’t told him what your fine classmates did in secret?’

_Then Thomas would still live!_

‘And indulge further in sin, but this time with you? Well, well. You see, he would have burnt anyway. _I_ get you all, don’t you see it?’

Benjamin bit into his hand to stop himself from shivering or raging.

_Not me! I will find favour in the Lord’s eyes again. I will not succumb to sin with another man! This is my trial, and if I fail, I’m bound for hell._

He squeezed his eyes shut and wished he could press his hands over his ears without revealing his eavesdropping. He was achingly hard by now, but this time he would not touch himself!

It took von Innow very long to find release, but his moaning sounded more like cursing. He huddled into the blankets, and after a long time, finally there was the snoring that told Benjamin he would not be molested tonight.

Not by the captain, at least. Arguing with the devil about lust as well as about escape, the night seemed to be endless.

# Chapter 7

Rolling thunder and the trumpets of Revelation made Benjamin jerk out of a bad dream. With a grunt that would have done a boar proud, Captain von Innow sat up, pushed the blankets away and jumped put of bed.

Putting on his boots, he called, “Get up, sloth! That’s alert. Help Karl with the horses!”

Benjamin groaned angrily and groped for the blankets.

The thunderclaps of the drums and the piercing blare of the trumpets went on, and Benjamin wished grumpily for a single benevolent church bell on a summer morning. But wait, alert?

Outside someone roared, “Get up ya rascals!”

Benjamin looked up at von Innow, who buckled his belt with sword and dagger. Did alert mean Wallenstein was attacking? Had the much despised, but always inventive Imperial Generalissimus tricked them, done the impossible and marched during the night to attack the Swedish camp?

Bleary-eyed he sat up, feeling every minute of lacking sleep in his bones.

The captain tied his sash with a sloppy bow. “Come on, lad, don’t let the old man wait!”

With that he put on his hat and rushed out of the tent.

The voice outside shouted now at scoundrels, and the sons of bitches got their waking call as well.

Benjamin sighed and wished himself back in time to a peaceful Mainz, ruled by a Catholic archbishop instead of cursing heretics. A Mainz without early morning Masses, if you please. If he was honest he wished himself home, wished for cake and honey in his mother’s kitchen, back then when everything had been all right.

A horse neighed close by, and he thought better than huddling under the blankets again. No time for idle daydreaming. Slowly he got up, shuddering. Perhaps he now had the cold the captain had worried about yesterday. Hopefully a hot breakfast soup would warm him up. After the horses were fed.

It was dark outside, and no Imperialist cannons were to be heard. Again, his day started with lugging water and putting up with an especially gruff Karl, who saddled the horses while they were eating. He ranted at Benjamin for not being faster with the water and ranted at the king for begrudging an honest man his sleep, accommodation in a solid house, and his life at all.

Benjamin’s only hope was the fires at the field kitchen and the steaming kettles, after the damned beasts would be fed. It was wet and cold, and even carrying the buckets didn’t help much to warm up. The first soldiers gathered by the fires, soup bowls at the ready, stomping to warm their feet and holding their hands out to the fires.

The captain returned at a trot, summoned the sergeant, and it turned out that it had been the sergeant who had bidden his company a good morning. This time he shouted: “Baggage train stays in the camp! All train carters report with their horses to the artillery wagons master!”

Oh damn! Benjamin turned to Karl, who commented on the order with an angry grunt.

“So you’re going to attack right now?”

“Right now, right now,” Karl spat, pulling a saddle strap tight. “Another one who can’t wait for the slaughter, huh?”

Benjamin snorted angrily. But looking at the horses and the saddles he changed tack. “I’m sorry, I just wanted to help and it’s the first time that I’m with an army...” If he were allowed to lead one of the horses, then he could as well jump onto it and rush off to warn the Emperor’s army just in time ...

“Then get the straw, stupid!” Karl barked at him.

_Go to hell!_ Benjamin glared at the old man, but fetched the fodder. No wonder that the captain got none of the train boys as servants!

He served the horses and then fled to the kitchen tent. While eating, the captain was talking to his lieutenant and the cornet. The latter was pulling a face when tasting the soup. Warm beer with bread. Benjamin drank it down, grateful for the warmth in his stomach.

He hadn’t yet finished his bowl when a single trumpet blared with the next signal. The soldiers hurried to down their breakfast. Along the alley came an officer on a grey horse, accompanied by a cornet with a light blue flag, a trumpeter, and half a dozen riders as bodyguard.

It was the young duke Bernhard of Saxe-Weimar, gathering his regiment. Von Innow took off his hat and bowed as did everyone else to greet their superior, but as soon as the duke had passed his company, the captain hurried to his tent. Benjamin followed him in case von Innow needed help with his cuirass.

Karl was already waiting, wearing an old sleeveless buffcoat and a rapier now. Von Innow put on two additional jackets, his buffcoat, and then Karl strapped him into the breast plate and back plate of the cuirass. The protection for the thighs was buckled to these plates with leather straps, but when Karl picked up the arm protection, von Innow shook his head. “No. They're more hindrance than use in a swordfight.”

“Ah, and I have to bear all the groaning and cursing when you get wounded again?” Karl scolded.

“I promise to curse less next time,” the captain smiled encouragingly at his servant.

With an angry grunt, Karl put down the armour parts. “That’s ridiculous!” he ranted, “Just because the king doesn’t wear armour ‘cause he has a bullet stuck in his shoulder, everybody thinks they’re bullet-proof! And after the battle, there’ll be a big weeping and gnashing of teeth when the surgeons saw off your mangled limbs!”

“Enough!” the captain barked, and Karl actually obeyed.

Frowning at his servant, von Innow shrugged to make himself comfortable within his armour, while Karl tied the captain’s sash and buckled his belt. Von Innow put on his leather gloves instead of the iron ones that normally came with a cuirass, and Karl tugged his master’s collar in place so that the white lace rested properly smoothed out on the black iron. Benjamin couldn’t avert his eyes from that weird contrast of colour and material.

 

 

 

“Well,” the captain said with a growl, putting on his hat and taking the coat Karl held out to him. “Here we go!”

“So much for winter break,” Karl muttered, took the holsters with the pistols and left the tent.

The captain turned to Benjamin. “You’ll take care of my tent and my wagon in the meantime. See to it that nobody steals my wine. In case Alexander turns up, he’s lost any claim here.” His frown smoothed out and his voice got friendlier when he saw Benjamin’s knitted brows. “Come on, boy, it isn’t a hardship to guard the place where you sleep and eat!”

“No, of course not.” But again Benjamin had to think of a horse in full career.

The captain grinned down at him and put a hand onto his shoulder. “And there’s no ‘The Lord be with you’ for me?”

Benjamin pressed his lips together, but then he remembered Father Andreas’s advice to be kind to heretics in distress because they were easier to convert then. “The Lord be with you, Captain,” he said in a flat voice, and astonishingly enough, for a moment he hoped that the Lord might protect this special heretic. He wouldn’t like to see someone sawing off von Innow’s arms.

The captain nodded at him, obviously pleased. “Thank you,” he said. At the tent entrance he turned around. “Benjamin, er ... just in case things go wrong ... If Wallenstein’s troops conquer the camp, you’ll raise your hands and call ‘quarter!’, nothing else. They won’t take the time to listen to any explanations that you’re a prisoner, a priest or whatever.”

Benjamin nodded. His stomach knotted at the idea of falling victim to looting soldiers again.

The captain clicked his tongue. “Chin up, boy. I’ll take care that it doesn’t come to that!”

Instantly, Benjamin hated him for the patronizing tone. “Go to hell!” he muttered, but von Innow had already left the tent.

It took hours until the army had left the camp in the wee hours of the morning of the 15th of November. Benjamin counted, trying to find out how many men this army actually had. Von Innow’s company was smaller than the about one hundred riders a company should have – in the end he wasn’t sure whether he had counted 76 or 77 riders. Von Innow rode in front of his men, followed by Karl and another soldier who led the captain’s spare horses. Behind them rode the trumpeter, followed by the fancy cornet, who was full of his own importance, and the lieutenant who looked more morose than at breakfast. After them, rode the cuirassiers two abreast. In their full black armour and helmets they looked so dark and demonic that Benjamin feared again for the Emperor’s army. And that was only one company. Duke Bernhard’s regiment consisted of about 500 riders, and was by that only half as strong as it should have been. But the King’s German Life Regiment of Horse was only one cavalry regiment of many. There was Baner’s Life Regiment of Horse, the Upland regiment with its red flags, the eerie Tott regiment, two more Weimar dukes with their riders, Stalhandske’s notorious Finns and some more, followed by several dragoon regiments and companies, and in the end, Benjamin lost count.

The riders were followed by the musketeer regiments and their pikemen. And there was the artillery too, with hundreds of horses for about sixty cannons and field guns, the gunpowder wagons and the transport of the cannon balls.

When Captain von Innow had talked yesterday about twenty thousand men, that had probably been the number of soldiers who were now marching east to Weissenfels. But as if God wanted to express his displeasure about their ways, mist made them vanish from view.

‘Well, well, there he goes to fight the Emperor’s army, and all you do is stare after him like a good little soldier sweetheart,’ the devil mocked.

Benjamin frowned. Indeed he was about to stay behind with the women and children. The only ones left who hitched up their horses and oxen were the kitchen staff – and the sutlers.

Benjamin squinted his eyes. The sutlers seemed especially eager to break their stalls.

‘There,’ the devil said. ‘Bet’cha most of them will get themselves to safety within the city walls of Naumburg, but will tell you that they’ll use the time to buy supplies.’

Benjamin bit his lower lip. He should ask – or rather pay – the baker wife for the favour of getting him out of the camp.

‘You’d better ask someone with horses,’ the devil counselled. ‘You won't get far on an ox.’

Benjamin frowned. In his mind he heard von Innow say, ‘You gave me your word not to run’ as well as the man’s remark about ‘experience’. _Well, so if you expect me to break my word, then why do you trust me with your tent and your wagon as if I were a trustworthy servant? Or one of your sodomite lovers? Keeping your bed warm while you’re busy slaying good Christians!_ Benjamin clenched his fists and raged silently. _What the heck kind of test of my intentions is this?_

‘Doesn’t matter,’ the devil remarked matter-of-factly. ‘You’re not bound to a word given to a heretic, so why do you care? He might be disappointed with you? You must be joking, aren’t you?’

_No. He_ will _be disappointed. But what’s one man’s disappointment in comparison to the greater good? I must warn the Emperor’s army! He might have told me that they do reconnaissance too, but what if that was a lie to lull me? What if they have no idea what’s marching towards them in the fog? I need a horse!_

‘That’s the spirit!’ the devil seconded. ‘Let’s see what the heretic has in his trunks to bargain, and don’t forget your letter of credence!’

The wooden box that contained Benjamin’s letter of credence had been put into the captain’s trunk yesterday when clearing the tent. Benjamin opened the trunk and spotted the box in a smaller compartment at the right side of the trunk. Now that the captain wore his cuirass and several jackets under it, the trunk was almost empty. There was the dark grey doublet he had worn before changing for church service, a pair of shoes and a few shirts and hose – and all of them needed a wash, as did the towels. Benjamin spotted two more jars like the one with the soap, but nothing valuable enough to exchange for a horse.

With his knife, he started fumbling with the small box that contained his letter. The knife’s tip broke, but finally the lock gave way, breaking out of the wood. Benjamin’s letter lay on top, and he put it into his jacket. The box contained writing utensils, a few sheets of paper, one with a list of names and numbers with symbols of guilders and pennies. A captain did not pay his men, the regiment’s paymaster did, therefore this was probably a list of lent or borrowed money.

‘Who cares!’ the devil pestered, ‘What you need is cash!’ But there was no money to be found. Instead of that, the trunk compartment held Benjamin’s rosary and the book on farming. Below that, he spotted a piece of tent canvas like the one he had seen in the boxes with the books.

He stuffed his rosary into his belt and put the book aside. When he unwrapped the canvas, Benjamin knew he had found more than he dared dream of. It was an old book, its covers fit with gold plates, carrying precious stones and pearls. He opened it carefully: an illustrated Gospel with delicate illuminations, old, probably from the times of the Crusades or even older. Father Andreas would have been able to tell him to which scribe school this book belonged. Benjamin was simply stunned to find such a venerable work of faith and art in a heretic’s dirty laundry.

‘How long will you moon about it?’ the devil spoke up. ‘Now you have something to exchange for a horse. Hurry!’

_But this? Von Innow will kill me! It’s worth many horses, he might buy horses for the whole company for it!_

‘Then get something else, but hurry or the sutlers will be gone and you can explain to the guards why you want to leave the camp and where you will go to!’

But unfortunately, there was nothing else of worth to be found. A few letters, a woollen scarf, an elaborate hunting knife. These were the captain’s belongings. Benjamin cursed the man and took the big knife too. Now he would have to give away an invaluable book to some illiterate who happened to come along.

‘So what?’ the devil sneered. ‘Isn’t it you Jesuits who say that the end justifies the means? Of course you can sit here and read the Bible and wait who enters the tent first: the randy captain or some Imperialist looters! Have fun!’

Benjamin clutched the Gospel close. _The Lord sent me this book to buy my freedom, to warn His army in time, and He’ll care for it. One day it will lie on an altar again were it belongs!_

He wrapped the book in canvas, put the damaged letter box back and closed the trunk.

‘Hurry!’ the devil urged, and Benjamin admitted that the fiend was right this time.


	2. Chapter 2

# Chapter 8

“Ow! Damn you!” Benjamin clung to the shaggy mane when his ugly red roan bucked again, kicked into empty air and farted. The beast was obviously delighted to have been freed from the wagon and enjoyed running to warm up in the chilly morning wind. Benjamin was anything but delighted. The tenderest parts of his body had just made contact with the saddle fork in a very untender way. “You’re the devil!” he groaned, trying to regain balance in the saddle. At least this devil carried him east.

Of course the sutlers had suspected him of theft. But their greed for gold had won out easily. As he had supposed, only a few sutlers followed the army, and many headed back to the strong walls of Naumburg. One of those had pretended that Benjamin was his menial, and as soon as they had left the camp behind, the first horse on his wagon and an unsuspicious brown jacket were exchanged for a golden Gospel.

On said draught horse Benjamin followed at full gallop the trade road from Naumburg via Weissenfels to Leipzig. It turned out to be one of the best-maintained overland streets Benjamin had ever seen. It even had a ditch to keep the surface dry: Saxony was a rich country indeed. The sutlers had described him the way. Wallenstein’s last known position had been south of Weissenfels, and the Swedes were heading there directly and had left him the road.

 

 

 

Clutching at his unleashed beast, Benjamin remembered sitting on his father’s horses as a little boy, dreaming of being a knight of the Crusades while the well-behaved animals slowly drew a wagon full of casks. Today, perhaps the outcome of a war depended on him.

Two bay carthorses and one wagon the family had owned, back when Benjamin was a child. Now that he had become stinking rich by selling wine to the Swedish garrison in Mainz, Wilhelm Kenneberg owned twelve wagons and many horses. Riding horses even, and he didn’t feel ashamed for making business with the foes of God. After his strongly-worded reproach concerning this treason, Benjamin wasn’t welcome anymore in his father’s house.

Thinking of their argument still hurt, and Benjamin reprimanded himself to concentrate on his current mission: _You have to warn the Emperor’s army! And if this crazy beast lasts a few miles more at the current speed, we’ll overtake the Swedes!_ He didn’t dare imagine how his father would sneer at this bony, hardly broken-in mount.

Weissenfels was easily to spot, because on the chalk rock that had given the city its name a big castle was burning. Bad time for its duke.

When Benjamin approached the city at noon on a horse that was curly and stinking with sweat, but calmer of mind now, several cavalry regiments had gathered outside the town. But to Benjamin’s terror the first flags and cornets he could discern didn’t show the Holy Virgin, but the letters _GARS_ with a crown: _Gustavus Adolphus Rex Suecorum_ – Gustavus Adolphus King of the Swedes.

It was the King’s Swedish Life Regiment’s cornets he recognized: the red ones of the Uppland regiment, and behind them the blue ones of Baner’s – but to his relief the light blue ones with the laurel wreath of Duke Bernhard’s were nowhere to spot.

There was no way around them. North of the city there was the river Saale, dark, wide water that Benjamin didn’t dare cross in winter.

“Lord help me!” he prayed when he noticed some dragoons turning their horses and cantering in his direction.

Fear made his stomach churn. It was unlikely that anyone would recognize him, but one could never know which traps the devil laid in one’s way. Benjamin raised his hands.

“Where are you going, boy?” A short musket was cocked at him, and half a dozen riders scrutinized him for loot.

But Benjamin had his cover story at the ready. “Good day, gentlemen! The merchant Kaufmann from Naumburg sends me. I’m looking for a Captain von Innow who ordered some hundredweights of oats from our company. I have to ask where to deliver them.”

“Do you know a Captain Innow?” the dragoon with the cocked gun asked his comrades.

“That’s the tall one from Duke Bernhard’s cuirassiers,” a man with a raven feather on his hat said. He pointed south-east. “They’re already over there.”

“Thank you.” Benjamin sketched a bow and kicked his horse's flanks. He wasn’t sure if they would let him pass, but they did.

“Hell and damnation!” He heard one of them rant. “Damned cuirassiers get their fodder delivered!”

Benjamin fought hard to bite back his smile. The hell they’d get!

The Lord was with him. Benjamin slithered through the regiments unharmed. He was stopped again twice – the second time even by an officer – but every time the story of Captain von Innow buying oats for his company left some dumbfounded and envious riders behind, who started to discuss instantly how they could coax their share out of von Innow instead of paying attention to the false messenger.

Throwing a backwards glance over his shoulder, Benjamin wiped the sweat from his brow and thanked the Lord above. Now for the next leg of his mission. He wondered whether the Imperials had already retreated all the way back to Leipzig. He hoped not, because all he could get out of his horse now was a slow trot. On the road, dragoons started to patrol to clear the way to the next village. To stay true to his ruse, Benjamin left the road. He even dared head a little in the direction the man with the raven feather had shown him, but he took cover behind every hedge and copse that might hide him from von Innow’s view.

His horse became noticeably tired – and sullen, when he kicked its sides while it wanted to eat the patches of yellow November grass underneath the hedges. Not caring much for the reins, it started to tear at grass and twigs.

“Just another hour,” Benjamin pleaded, pulling repeatedly at the reins until his arms hurt. “Come on, just a little hour and you shall have as much hay and oats as you want!”

When pleading didn’t help, he broke a cane from a hazelnut bush.

Both furry ears turned back at him.

“Ah, this is a sound you know, do you?” he said menacingly.

He tapped the horse's back, and it shook its overly big head.

“Will you go now!” He lashed down with full force, and with an angry grunt the beast fell into a slow canter, shaking its head vigorously. Leaping a ditch gave it an excuse to buck again, but this time Benjamin was better prepared.

Pleased with his growing riding skills, he steered the horse towards a group of trees he could discern in the mist. That was probably already the creek the sutlers had mentioned, the Rippach. The fog spreading from there was very welcome at the moment, because at his right he saw, through the sparse trees, cavalry on their march east. They were less than half a mile away, and he was sure that he glimpsed the light blue cornets he dreaded.

The main train was covered by dragoons swarming around. Benjamin’s heart started to race when a group of them came closer and closer. Five riders, about to cross his path. He reined his horse into the next copse, hid themselves among the shrubs and briars.

If they detected him, there was no way not to go to meet the captain. Hearing the story about the oats, they would probably gladly escort him to von Innow! And what to tell the man? I didn’t want you to ride into battle alone?

 _Go away, go away_ , he prayed and tried to breathe as silently as he could.

Then, when they passed the bush he was lurking in: _You don’t see me, you simply don’t see me!_

Quarrelling, they didn’t notice him, but pointed at the road, heading there to contact their patrolling comrades.

Only one horse looked in his direction, but the rider reined the bay in with a hard hand.

 _No! NO!_ Benjamin felt doom coming – the beast between his legs puffed itself up like a giant frog.

“Don’t!” he hissed in terror, pulling hard at the reins, but there it was: a neigh blaring like the horns of Jericho.

For a moment, Benjamin’s sight became overly sharp: he saw every hair on the horses which cantered for a few jumps more, saw the faces of the riders who stared at him. Their fists holding the reins followed the one direction of their surprised gazes – and the horses turned.

“Go! Go, you devious demon!” Benjamin yelled at his treacherous mount, beating it so hard that the hazelnut twig broke.

The horse started to trot with an angry snort.

“Go, damn you!” Benjamin poked it with the end of the stick he still held in his fist. A buck was all he got.

The other horses had already closed half of the distance.

“Stop!” He heard the riders roar.

_I will not become his prisoner again! I will not!_

A shot broke. Bark splintered from a tree. His horse jumped sideways, almost brushed him off the saddle at the next tree-trunk, and rushed off like an arrow let loose.

Wailing with pain, Benjamin managed to clutch at it, to pull himself into the saddle again. The right leg of his trousers was torn, his knee scraped bloody – but at least the beast ran.

It jumped over a wall of briars, and then they were in the open field.

Benjamin pulled at the left rein.

The Rippach! They had to reach the small river.

Swampy, the sutler had said, a bad pass, full of reed.

The only place where he could hide now!

The panicking horse had become as stiff as a beam. It didn’t care for his rider’s desperate tugging at the reins, but dashed south.

Over there, the first dragoons noticed him too.

And yes, it was the light blue cornets of Duke Bernhard’s cuirassiers behind them.

“Lord help me!” Benjamin shouted. “Not there!”

With a series of brutal pulls he finally managed to turn his horse’s head a fraction left, to turn the animal towards the line of trees. They were almost covered in mist now.

Half a mile away – so awfully far. A half mile he would never make. The riders on their swifter horses came closer and closer, and some dragoons from the south joined the hunt.

“Go! Go! Go!” Benjamin kicked the red roan’s sides. But he knew this time his horse wouldn’t get any faster.

_If they don’t kill me at once, I will fall victim to him again ..._

He could already hear their horses trampling the wet mud, the first ones only thirty, twenty strides behind him. The trees, the foggy river, the reed were as far away as paradise was for a sinner in hell.

_He’ll kill me! And if he doesn’t he’ll make me pay for stealing the Gospel! He’ll have me flogged and branded like the other one, he’ll drag me into his bed, but Lord, all I wanted was to reach your army! Have mercy upon me! I can’t fight them. All I have is a knife._

That knife!

Expensive, silver-inlaid – worthy of a count or prince.

Benjamin pulled it from his belt and threw the weapon behind him: _there, you scoundrels! Fight for it!_

But only one rider stopped his horse; a pack of eight were still behind him.

Swords were drawn to save black powder.

“Holy Mother of God, Mary ever Virgin, help me!”

A glimpse of red ahead.

A cornet appearing in the fog.

Riders stepping out of the mist. On wet horses.

They had crossed the river. From the east.

Imperials!

Benjamin heard the astonished shouts of his pursuers: “Redcoats!” “Croats!”

With a triumphant yell he steered his horse in their direction.

The so-called Croats were Wallenstein’s light cavalry!

White clouds grew in front of them, and the thunderclaps of shots followed suit. Bullets buzzed around him, and his horse stumbled and fell.

The ground jumped at him. Benjamin managed to roll over and out of the way of his horse’s hooves. He stared at the blood on the beast’s chest, at its futile struggle to jump up, and then they were around him: riders in billowing red capes with strange fur-trimmed caps.

“Jesus Maria!” Benjamin shouted the Imperial war cry, and, raising his hands, he added, “Quarter!”

Their cornet didn’t show the Holy Virgin, but an almost naked Fortuna.

He was grabbed by the collar of his jacket and dragged into the fog.

# Chapter 9

“Up! Up!”

The rider in the red jacket gestured with his gun at Benjamin to climb onto the pack horse behind his own.

The beast snapped at him, but was beaten on the head by the next rider.

As soon as Benjamin sat on top of the bundled loot, three riders dashed off with him in full gallop, while the others returned to the skirmish behind them: shots, shouts, the clashing of metal on metal – and behind that fray the thunder of some hundred horses approaching in full run.

“Where are your officers?” Benjamin called. “We have to warn them! That’s the whole Swedish army marching towards us!”

They didn’t answer. But from their haste he concluded that they had the same aim.

Sitting on the packs hurt. The bag under Benjamin’s right thigh was filled with hard metal, cutlery and jars probably, but when he finally saw the Rippach, he was grateful to be sitting on a horse. The so-called creek was a small river actually, at least ten steps wide, and due to the autumn rain it had flooded the meadows, making the whole valley a bog.

The Croats dashed alongside the western bank, water spraying up high above horses and riders.

Benjamin considered himself cursed: he got soaked wherever he came to.

Soon, the silhouette of a village grew out of the mist – a village that was full of train wagons and marching troops, all heading for the one narrow bridge across the Rippach and the bog. Here, he was on the Naumburg-Leipzig road again. The soldiers however didn’t march towards the Swedes, but hurried east. Benjamin realized that he met the last of the Imperials retreating from Weissenfels.

The Croats didn’t care for the marching infantry, but cantered right through their rows, shouting just one question again and again: “Where’s Isolani? Where’s Isolani?”

Another redcoat patrol on the other bank gestured at the neighbouring village.

In said village, two dozen riders had gathered in front of a large inn. Most of them were the strangely clad cavalrymen with fur caps and with sabres hanging from their belts, but there was also a detachment of riders wearing hats and carrying rapiers. Both parties glared at each other, their hands near their weapons, and inside the building, a man roared:

“What the hell are you still doing here, Isolani! Get your sorry ass on horseback! The Swede is after us!”

So they know already! Benjamin felt disappointed not to be the heroic messenger who saved them all.

The redcoats dragged him into the pub. The roaring man stood in the middle of the room, fists on his hips, his fat face crimson with rage and his moustache standing on edge. He was clad in black velvet with red stripes and wore a half cuirass. The red sash of an Imperial officer ran around a considerable belly. “I don’t believe it! There he is: whoring instead of following orders and...”

“Shut up, Colloredo!” said a hoarse voice from the gallery. An older, beardless man shrugged into the red cassock of an east European gentleman. Buckling his belt, he went down the stairs and planted himself in front of the enraged Colloredo. “If I had followed orders and lusted more for Mars than for Venus, dear Major-General,” he sneered, “I would already be twenty miles away and you would have nobody to shout at – and no cavalry to cover your retreat. Now: what’s the matter!”

“The Swedish army is after us, that’s the matter!” the major-General snapped at him, as if it were Isolani’s fault that King Gustavus Adolphus had waged an attack.

“Oh shit.” Now the smirk vanished from the beardless face. “All of them?”

‘Oh shit’ was more or less Benjamin’s thoughts when he realized whom he was looking at.

 _Isolani’s redcoats who slay every living soul around,_ he remembered Captain von Innow saying.

The Major-General puffed himself up as if the question had been another insult, and Benjamin used the opportunity to speak up.

“All of them, Sirs.” He bowed. Surely it wasn’t his station to interrupt two Imperial Generals, but there was no time to lose, “The Lord be with you, Gentlemen! I’m Deacon Benjamin Kenneberg sent by the Societas Jesu, and yes, there is the whole Swedish army on the way to you! They know that General Wallenstein is dissolving his army for winter and has sent away part of your artillery. They have about twenty thousand men and about sixty cannons and field guns.”

“Ha!” Colloredo snapped at his smaller colleague. “As if I hadn’t known it! Didn’t I tell him? May lightning strike that old bastard!” He stamped his foot, and Benjamin wondered if the enraged man was cursing his own superior, the Imperial Generalissimus Wallenstein.

Isolani, the Commander of all Croats, scrutinized Benjamin coolly. “And what the heck does a Jesuit in Swedish company?”

“I escaped them to warn you! I was on my way to the Emperor’s army when they took me prisoner two days ago.”

“Damn, damn, damn!” The fat man turned towards his men, who had gathered at the door, pointed at one and shouted: “My best wishes to the Generalissimus: Tell him the Swede is coming! I’ll try to hold them in check as long as it’s possible. And I need reinforcements! Reinforcements, do you hear me!”

The adjutant nodded and ran to his horse.

“Any more bad news?” the major-General barked at Benjamin.

Benjamin shook his head and put a hand into his jacket to get his letter of credence. He heard the metallic cracking of a pistol that was cocked behind him. Deliberately slowly he turned to the redcoat who aimed at him. “It’s only a letter.” With two fingers, he pulled out the paper. The pistol was lowered, but not put away. Benjamin held out his letter to the officer.

“My letter of credence, Sir. I was scheduled as assistant field chaplain in the Imperial army and ...”

“Do you think I have time for that clerical stuff!” Major-General Colloredo turned and strode to the door. “I want your riders on the hills!” he shouted at Isolani, “I’ll defend the street! If the Swede manages to cross the river, we’re doomed!”

“All right, all right.” Isolani strode to the door as well.

“Er, Sir, what about this one?” one of the redcoats asked and grabbed the collar of Benjamin’s jacket.

Isolani shrugged, not even glancing back. “Shoot him, hang him, I don’t care.” With that he left the building.

“But ...” Benjamin stared behind him dumbfounded, his letter still in hand. “But I came to warn you!”

The redcoats laughed out loud.

“You might as well be a spy,” a female voice said from the gallery, “who reports the obvious to save his neck when taken prisoner.”

Benjamin looked up. A blond lady of noble pallor stood on the gallery. She wore an expensive light blue gown and hid most of her face behind a fan. Two handmaidens carried suitcases and baskets out of a room, and Benjamin couldn’t tell if it wasn’t the same room that Isolani had left a few minutes ago.

The redcoat pressed his pistol into Benjamin’s stomach. “Want to buy him?”

“For twenty guilders,” the lady said.

“One hundred!” the rider demanded.

“Twenty five and I won’t tell your General that you tried to rob me.”

With an angry growl and a curse in an unintelligible language the soldier let go of Benjamin.

One of the handmaidens paid the soldier, and the lady told her to pay a round of beer for the brave riders too. She took Benjamin’s arm as if he was a gentleman of her family and led him out of the inn. “You’ll travel with me.”

Her carriage was guarded by redcoats too.

Benjamin climbed into the cramped coach, still puzzled about his sudden luck.

The red-haired handmaiden with the green bodice stacked some baskets to make room for Benjamin on the opposite bench of the carriage. The lady made herself comfortable and gestured at him to take a seat.

“Thank you very much, Madam. The Lord will reward you for your kindness,” Benjamin said and bowed to her, before he sat down between cases and baskets and a cage that imprisoned two squirrels.

“When I get my expenses back and a little extra cash for my trouble, I shall be content,” the lady said in a mocking tone of voice. “I hope you didn’t lie to me about your identity?”

“But no! I’m Benjamin Kenneberg, on my way to my apostolic ministry. I’ll serve as assistant field chaplain.” He couldn’t keep the pride out of his voice. To prove his words, he held out his letter of credence to her. “I may read it to you if you wish.”

“Thank you, but I’m capable of doing that myself,” she replied haughtily. She unfolded the letter, actually studied it and gave it back.

“Well, Field Chaplain, I trust that you’ll behave well,” she said and smiled sweetly at him, hiding then behind her fan. The painted silk showed a rather insinuating scene of modern art: one of those Dutch genre pieces where the light shone onto the bosom of the one lady present in a round of merry revelers.

Benjamin was at a loss as to how to address her properly. He doubted that she was Isolani’s wife, but she got a bodyguard of her own. A favourite concubine then? Many officers left their wives at home and had a lover with them during the campaign. For an idle moment he wondered if there was a Lady Kai von Innow somewhere in Mecklenburg, running an estate and cursing her husband on a daily basis.

“And to whom do I owe my life?” he asked carefully.

The horses pulled on, and the carriage moved.

“Just call me Madame Clara,” she said, cocking her head a little.

“Clara, ‘the light, the famous one’,” Benjamin said with a smile he knew as charming. He hoped he wouldn’t blush. A lady who didn’t introduce herself with her family name ...

“Yes, I dare say I’m well-known, if not of renown,” Madame Clara said with a smug smile, fanning herself, and her maidens giggled.

Benjamin knew he was blushing. Folding his hands in his lap he asked, “And where are we going now? I have to report to the headquarters of the Imperial army.”

“Don’t you worry. We’re going with the army.”

Benjamin nodded and stared at his feet.

‘Such are the ways of the Lord these days...’ Benjamin had heard Father Andreas joke, but he couldn’t share his mentor’s unshakable serenity when it came to the troubles of travel and the strange companions one met on the way.

The women’s unwavering stare unnerved him very soon. Was he expected to entertain the ladies with his adventures with the Swedes?

But before he could come up with a version in which he didn’t run so stupidly into the patrol who wanted to hang him, the maid in the red gown pointed at his right knee and said, “Oh, but you got hurt!”

“Uhm, that’s nothing. A riding accident.” Self-consciously Benjamin pulled his hose up to cover his knee. It looked as bad as it felt: a deep abrasion, bloodstains on the white linen of the hose, and the knee was swollen, but he would never insult a lady by showing her bare skin. Even a lady who didn’t deserve the title. He turned away as far as he could. “It’s nothing, really.”

“... said the brave soldier and died of a fever a week later,” Madame Clara replied and gestured at the handmaiden with the green bodice. “See to his wound, Dagmar, we don’t want him to get a fever.”

“But I assure you ...”

“Hush. I insist on it,” Madame Clara said, “We’ll clean it with wine, and as soon as we’re in solid quarters, you’ll see the barber and have a lush hot bath to present the world a handsome young Jesuit again.”

Benjamin didn’t like the enthusiasm in her voice when she spoke the words ‘lush’, ‘bath’ and ‘handsome’.

The handmaiden took a bottle of wine out of a basket and a handkerchief from a case. She tugged at Benjamin’s trousers and hose, and Benjamin hurried to assist.

This way he could control how far he exposed himself. He would show her only the smallest amount of skin.

Dagmar uncorked the bottle with her teeth. She wetted the cloth with the wine and cleaned Benjamin’s abrasions with the routine of a field surgeon. The wine bit in the deeper scratches, and Benjamin bit his lower lip not to gasp out loud.

“Oh, I’m sorry that it hurts,” Madame Clara cooed. She closed her fan, leant forward, and put a hand on his other knee. “How did that happen?”

Benjamin stared at her tiny white hand. A real lady shouldn’t touch him like that, wouldn’t touch him like that. He tried to move back, but there was already the wall of the carriage, and at his left and right he was caught between stacks of baskets. The squirrels stared down at him maliciously.

“Uhm, when I ran away from the Swedes, my horse took too close a turn around a tree.”

“So, is a bad horse or a poor rider to blame?” Madame Clara smiled mischievously at him, and her fingers slid under the hem of his trousers. Where they caressed the inside of his thigh.

“Madam! That’s rather...” Benjamin was sure he was as red in his face as the fat Major-General had been – not with rage though, but with embarrassment.

“No harm intended. It’s only to distract you from the pain,” she said and looked him straight in the eye.

“Thank you, Madam, but I don’t need this kind of distraction!” Benjamin put his hand onto her much smaller one and pushed it away. He tried to use his friendliest voice to convince her. “Look, I’m a servant of the Lord, I’m not supposed to be touched this way.”

She chuckled and refused to let go by hooking a finger behind his knee. “Not supposed to perhaps, but you would be the first one, who doesn’t crave it.”

Her fingers sneaked up again.

“Madam, please behave!” Benjamin jumped up.

She pouted and sat back.

“What do you think my Croats would do to you if I complained that you molested me?” she said then, frowning at him.

“But it’s me, who is being molested!” Benjamin called enraged. “Really, Madam, all I want is to reach the Emperor’s army! I’m grateful that you saved my life, and I’m grateful for your medical help, but I am not here to indulge in sin with you! And if you see it fit to emulate Potiphar's wife, then please remember that Dante saw her in the second deepest pit of hell!”

“Aw, what kind of clergyman are you!” she snarled at him, “You’re acting more prudish than ... than ... a lousy Protestant! That way you’ll never make a career for yourself!”

Benjamin bit his tongue. He was about to blurt that he certainly didn’t aspire to her career, but he managed to shut up in time.

He sat down and glared at the women. “I have nothing to do with you and your sins! You will get your money, but you will leave me alone!”

Madame Clara scrutinized him with narrow eyes. “Oh really? You holier-than-thou piece of shit really dare tell me what I’m to do with my commodity?!” She opened the curtain at the side window. “Carter, stop at once!” she yelled furiously. Turning back to Benjamin, she hissed, “I’ll teach you want it means to disobey me, boy!”

The horses stopped.

 

***

 

A few moments later, Benjamin was face down in the mud. He gasped for air, but the blow right into the pit of his stomach hadn’t left him with any. Protecting his head from the kicks and fists, he curled up, but the redcoats wouldn’t have it.

They grabbed his arms and legs, made him lie spread-eagled on the ground, one man per limb. Another man knelt behind him, yanked Benjamin’s trousers down and his hips up.

Nobody held his head. Benjamin looked back just to see the man reaching into his trousers and pulling his hard member out.

“No, oh God! No! Please don’t!” He tried to break free, to buck the man off, when he was pulled back against the other body. Another blow to his head made his vision blur, and then there was only pain.

Agonizing pain when the other man pushed into him, pain deeper with every thrust, pain that wasn’t just ‘down there’ where his anus was torn, but exploding in his head, tearing his guts, setting his lungs on fire.

Benjamin screamed. Screamed from the top of his lungs at first. With agony. For mercy, when they took turns on him. For help.

But nobody interfered.

Soldiers marched by, wagons passed the carriage and the riot behind it. But nobody would risk a fight with the redcoats.

The men who held him down cheered their comrades on, and some more riders jumped from their horses to join them.

Benjamin didn’t count. Each new man breaching into him was torture. When he vomited with pain they laughed at him, and when he shat himself at one point, one of them kicked him into the stomach and shouted at him to clean himself for the next ride.

Not that he felt able to move when they let go.

A whip bit into his naked back, but whiplashes were no worse than the cane he knew so well.

He didn’t care about them, just hid his head under his arms.

Hard hands pulled him up.

Someone splashed water from a flask into his face.

Benjamin struggled for air. His legs gave out, and they pulled him up again.

A fist grabbed his hair and forced his head towards the carriage.

“There. This is where your snootiness will lead you,” Madame Clara said, still glaring at him. “And you better get on your feet again. I’m not inclined to lose the twenty guilders I paid for a whore.” She went to the place where his letter of credence had fallen and ground it into the mud with the heel of her shoe.

 

***

 

Mercy was a small board. A board that protruded from the back of the carriage and supported the trunk tethered there. When they saw that he was barely able to stand, the redcoats made Benjamin sit on the board and bound his hands with a short leash they knotted at the trunk.

Numb with horror and pain he clung to the trunk’s handle, trying to support his weight with the side of one thigh.

Soon the horses pulled on again.

The carriage jolted back onto the road, and Benjamin groaned with pain. Sitting hurt like hell, but walking was no option either. He was sure his badly trembling knees would give out again.

The riders who had raped him followed the wagon, talking animatedly and pointing repeatedly at him.

He couldn’t bear their looks and laughter.

Staring at the Naumburg-Leipzig road rolling along below his feet, Benjamin concentrated on not falling and not thinking.

Yet the devil in his thoughts wouldn’t have it.

‘There,’ he said, ‘You’ve only got yourself to blame! Now you got what you wanted when you wished the heretic might molest you a little more! Remember? No guilt upon you as long as it is rape? Hah! If you had allowed that witch a little groping you wouldn’t be sitting here! So who’s guilty now?’

 _Shut up!_ Benjamin ordered silently. At least the heretic had been true to his word when telling him he wouldn’t rape him. The captain had molested him, yes, but now Benjamin knew the real hurt, the complete humiliation of the act.

‘Dreaming of that bugger again?’ the devil sneered. ‘Do you think he would spare you now? Save you? You, fucked up as you are? You who had run with his bible, with his knife? He’ll shoot you like a mangy dog, that’s what he’ll do! Maybe he’ll fuck you first, but I bet such a gentleman wouldn’t want his cock soiled with all that dirt and blood leaking from your arse!”

Benjamin retched with disgust when he was reminded of his body. His shirt clung wet between his thighs. He stank.

‘Bleeding like a virgin,” the devil went on, even he with disgust. “Just from the wrong hole. Not that your grooms seem to be unhappy with it ... Nice fighters for your Catholic cause, aren’t they?’

 _Oh God, shut up!_ Benjamin sobbed with rage and hit the trunk, clenching his bound hands into fists.

All it got him was more pain and the riders’ laughter.

By the river behind the hills the shooting started with new vigour now. After a short while even a light cannon joined in.

The train sped up, travelling across a plain now, and the redcoats around Madame Clara’s carriage lost their cheerfulness. They looked back repeatedly to the west where the Swedes were attacking Isolani’s and Colloredo’s makeshift defences.

Benjamin hoped the Swedes would come soon. Cuirassiers in full career, firing with all guns. He didn’t want to see von Innow. Not at all. All he prayed for was a near and swift death. A bullet right into his chest would end this shame and the pain stabbing through his guts, too. And yes, he prayed that they would kill all the redcoats, too, and the cruel witches inside the carriage as well.

The Swedes didn’t come, however.

All afternoon there was shooting behind them, but it stopped with nightfall, and by nightfall the carriage had reached a small town with a castle.

Madame Clara left the coach at the marketplace.

“Luetzen,” she said with a snort, “Again we’re stuck in that dump.”

# Chapter 10

How Madame Clara had managed to get a quarter in the overcrowded town was her professional secret. Or no secret at all. Remembering von Innow’s sneer about the busy whores in the night before a battle, Benjamin doubted that the women would need a bed of their own at all.

Their horses and carriage, however, needed a place to stay, and the redcoats made room for them by leading some travellers’ horses from the inn’s stable, never to be seen again. One protesting stable hand was silenced by a blow on the head, and it didn’t look like he would ever get up again.

Still huddled on the board at the rear of the carriage, Benjamin stared at the door of the wooden stable as if it was the gate of hell. And hell it would become for him, that was for certain, if he read his captors’ grins right.

He looked around for help, but the carriage had been pulled into the inn’s yard, and off the street by that.

Carefully, Benjamin slid from his seat and tried to stand. Yes, he could. He hurt all over, but his knees were willing to carry his weight again. Hampered by the rope that tied him to the carriage, he peeked around the wagon. Good, the devils were busy with unharnessing the horses.

Immediately he started to pick at the knot of his restraints. It wasn’t easy, because his hands were already numb by the binding and the constant clinging to a trunk handle, but his life depended on one stupid knot!

A clicking of tongue made him freeze.

One of the redcoats, a lad younger than his captive, had noticed Benjamin’s attempts. He grinned, pulled a long dagger from his belt and gestured Benjamin to step away from the knot as far as the rope allowed. Then he cut it close to the knot and tugged at the leash. “Come.”

Walking hurt, but Benjamin would rather have walked the five hundred miles back home than to put one foot in the dark cave that housed the demons in red. A single lantern cast a small yellow light on the horses’ backs and left black shadows elsewhere.

Surprised at this train of thought appearing now, Benjamin remembered his father calling a horse stable such a peaceful place when the animals munched their oats and hay in the evening. But here in Luetzen, there was no peace to be found – only the eternal kind.  Horrified, Benjamin stared at the still form of the unfortunate menial who had tried to protect what had belonged to his as yet unsuspecting master only shortly before.

The man had fallen face down between the buckets and forks at the wall near the stable entrance. The redcoat stepped over the legs as if they were mere wood in his way, tugging impatiently at his prisoner’s rope.

Benjamin gazed at the dark wet curls on a pale head that might have been blond in sunlight, and suddenly his fear gave way to an insight: now, this very moment, was his last chance to escape.

He grabbed the rope and gave it a rude pull. Surprised, the redcoat didn’t let go, but made a clumsy hop into Benjamin’s direction. Benjamin would have considered it funny, if it were not for a dead man the rider stumbled over. He greeted the bastard with both fists right into the face. With a whine, the redcoat fell onto his knees, protecting his broken nose with both hands. Several forks tumbled and fell. Benjamin grabbed the next hay fork and ran.

From behind the carriage, another cavalry man stepped into his way, alerted by the noise and about to produce his sabre. Benjamin stabbed at him before the blade left the sheath completely, and with a sickening sound the wooden fork went through layers of cloth - and flesh and guts. The rider roared with surprise and pain, Benjamin pulled his peasant weapon back and ran. From the corner of his eye he saw the man fall, but it didn’t matter to him.

The gateway, the street was all that mattered now.

Not caring for any pain and the rope trailing behind him, he ran out of the yard, knocking an old woman with a basket over. Behind him, he heard the redcoats roar, and a first shot broke.

He made it to the street, at the corner of a small square. Threatening everyone with his fork, Benjamin looked for a sanctuary.

The church.

Over there, at the other end of the marketplace! He ran.

Shots broke behind him, and near him a man screamed as the bullet hit.

Panic made him fly. Now, with a wounded and certainly dying redcoat behind, there would be no mercy even if Madame Clara insisted on her investment.

The church! He had to reach the house of God.

‘Not that it will provide any protection from raving soldiers these days,’ the devil raised his ugly voice again. ‘And it’s a heretic church for certain.’  But where else should he go? Where?

Sweeping his arms in a wide arc to make the rope fly and not to step accidentally on it, he dashed through citizens and soldiers like a devil set loose on them.

With their sabres drawn and shouting at him to stay, the redcoats were behind him. People rushed from the market place. One team of horses jumped aside and made their train wagon topple over. Casks and boxes crashed down and broke open on the ground. People cheered at the sight.

Benjamin didn’t care.

He saw only the church, the golden light behind its broken windows, heard the liturgy – in Latin –, and suddenly a horse reared, almost running him over.

“What the living hell is this about!” A one-eyed officer roared. Another bigwig, judging from the amount of lace and plumes. Behind him, a company of cuirassiers came to a halt.

“The Lord be with you, Sir!” Benjamin called, picking himself up, “I’m Benjamin Kenneberg of the Jesuit ...”

“Our prisoner!” The redcoats closed in, stabbing at Benjamin with their sabres. Benjamin tried to fend them off. His fork was slashed into pieces, a blade bit into his upper arm, and one of the redcoats was already grabbing for the rope.

The officer roared like thunder: “You goddamn sons of bitches know quite well that the Generalissimus wishes absolute quiet in the city! I’ll have you all hanged for this riot, you mangy dog arses!”

Benjamin clung to the horse’s reins while two redcoats tried to pull him away. “For Christ’s sake, Sir, help me, I’m one of your ...” A fist hit his head and he swayed.

“Stop that!” the officer barked at the redcoats. “Who’s that man!”

“He’s our prisoner!”

“He killed one of our men!”

“I’m one of your field chaplains!” Benjamin shouted desperately. “Please believe me! They’ll kill me!”

The officer glanced at him, wrinkling his nose. But then he seemed to think again. “Step back!” he ordered, and two of his riders threatened the redcoats away from the bound man.

The officer turned in the saddle, addressing one of his subordinates: “Get me one of those black crows!” With that he pointed at the church.

The adjutant obeyed and stomped into the church while the Eucharist was announced. For a split second, Benjamin let go of the horse to cross himself. _Lord help me, a sinner!_ The redcoats didn’t dare use this advantage. Grimly they stared at the cuirassier pistols which were cocked at them.

Soon, the adjutant returned with another man. A man in the black cassock and biretta of a Jesuit priest.

“Praise be to Jesus Christ!” Benjamin exclaimed. He couldn’t have been happier if an archangel himself had rushed to his rescue.

The priest’s “For evermore” didn’t match Benjamin’s excitement, however. “Why do you disturb the Holy Mass!” he barked at everybody present. His broad Austrian dialect made him sound funny enough not to enrage the officer. Some more men in cassocks and birettas left the church, glaring at the soldiers as if they would like to beat them up.

“Come on, Father Michael,” the officer said with a dismissive gesture, “before you throw thunder and lightning at us all, have a look if this gallows bird is actually from your flock.” With that he pointed at Benjamin.

“I’m Deacon Benjamin Kenneberg. Father Andreas Marx from Mainz sent me to bring you some leaflets and to perform my apostolic ministry in your army,” Benjamin called hastily. “But then the Swedes took my mule and the leaflets, and the redcoats took my letter of credence. I implore you, Father, help me! They’ll kill me if you leave me with them!”

Father Michael turned to his fellow Jesuits. “Can someone vouch for him?”

“Yes, me.”

Brother Benjamin swallowed hard, when he recognized the tall young priest who shouldered his way through his brethren and took a torch from one of his colleagues’ hand to have a closer look at the bound man.

Bruckmann! _Why that bastard of all people ... For Christ’s sake don’t deny knowing me!_

Terrified, Benjamin stared at the white-blond man who frowned at him.

“In trouble again, Kenneberg?” His former school-mate didn’t sound sympathetic at all. In a more polite voice, he told Father Michael, “Yes, I know this man. He’s one of us.” But he said it in such a way that everybody waited for the 'unfortunately' to follow.

Father Michael nodded. “I’ll take him in of course,” he told the officer. Due to his dialect, he still sounded as if he was complaining.

“The bastard killed one of our comrades!” a redcoat shouted.

“And he belongs to Madame Clara!” another one seconded. “ _General Isolani’s_ Madame!”

“Give us compensation!” a third Croat demanded from the priests. “One thousand guilders!”

“The hangman’s noose, that’s what you’ll get if you don’t sod off at once!” the officer hollered, and his men produced their swords. Cursing, the redcoats retreated.

“Next time we fuck you we kill you at once!” one of them shouted, pointing at Benjamin, before he dashed away through the gathering crowd.

For a moment, Benjamin expected his heart to stop.

 _No!_ He squeezed his eyes shut. _Lord, take me now!_ The surprised chuckle behind him was surely Bruckmann’s. But in his head the devil shrieked: ‘These bastards! Kill them! Kill them all!’

Benjamin covered his face with his hands. He couldn’t help it, but he started to shiver all over with rage and humiliation. He felt as if the last years hadn’t happened, as if he were back in Mainz, harassed by his fellows for being a traitor, for being guilty of Thomas's death.

And now this! He might as well hang himself to end his shame!

“Look at me, will you?” The Austrian nudged his shoulder. Benjamin forced himself to open his eyes.

The officer and his riders were already continuing on their way, leaving the priests alone, but reluctantly; every soldier wanted to watch the fucked-up Jesuit. They considered the redcoats’ revelation extremely funny, whistled and wished Benjamin a good night with all his newly found brethren.

“Don’t listen to them,” Father Michael said. “They’re just stupid sinners who’ll grovel before us for absolution before sunrise, you’ll see.” From under his cassock, he produced a not too small knife and cut Brother Benjamin’s restraints. “Let’s go back to the castle.”

Benjamin went with him, too mortified to look elsewhere but at his feet. He pressed his right hand onto the sabre wound and tried not to think about the sticky liquid running down his arm.

 

***

 

“What’s your problem with Father Bruckmann?” Father Michael asked in a business-like voice as soon as they had left the church behind them.

Benjamin was grateful for the distraction from pain and queasiness, and yet he was unsure how to answer. ‘The truth!’ he heard Father Andreas thunder.

“I...” he started. Well, the truth then. “I once reported two fellow students who abused themselves ... each other with mankind. They were both expelled and one of them committed suicide a few days later. My fellow students held me responsible for it and harassed me badly. Bruck... Father Johannes Bruckmann was a classmate of the boy who took his life.”

“I see,” Father Michael murmured. But instead of assuring Benjamin that he had done the right thing back then, Father Michael said: “Our situation here is a dire one. I don’t want any feuds within our small detachment, is this understood?”

“Yes, of course, Father.” Benjamin wished to crawl under a pavement stone and die there.

“I’ll tell Father Bruckmann the same,” Father Michael said, frowning at three women who overtook them on the way through the castle gate.

 

***

 

The castle of Luetzen was anything but a fortress. Separated only by a wall from the city and not having a moat at all, it was little more than a glorified manor house. The only thing of military interest was its high square tower, a great lookout over the plain.

Behind the town wall that might deter the local cattle thieves, but no modern army, shone the fires of the alerted Imperial forces in the fields, and someone shouted, “Dig, boys, dig, or the Swede will blow you over the fields!” But Benjamin found he didn’t care anymore for the military mess he was witness of.

Yes, he had reached his goal, and he had tricked the whole Antichrist army, but for what? As Captain von Innow had predicted, the Emperor’s had been warned by their own reconnaissance, and all Benjamin had achieved was to fall victim to the demons in red – and to meet Bruckmann. This fellow had made his life so miserable back in Mainz that Father Andreas had taken Benjamin under his wing – and out to his special missions by that. Smuggling leaflets, letters, or money while his classmates had to dig through books. Father Andreas had taught Benjamin philosophy while they travelled. Of course his schoolmates had hated Benjamin even more for these preferential lessons.

And now the same Bruckmann had crossed his way again, but this time with the holy orders and being his superior by that. Benjamin moaned. Yes, the Lord punished him in more than one way for his sins. All sins came back to him threefold now: first in the person of the mad Swedish captain, than as the redcoats, and now Bruckmann appeared on top of it.

 

***

 

“Your hospital brothers are already building their tents in the field,” the white-bearded man in the old-fashioned short doublet said, “But I can patch up your boy as well, if you don’t mind.” His smile indicated that the Jesuits must be quite mad not to accept his offer.

“No, of course I don’t mind,” Father Michael assured with a haste that showed deep respect for the elder surgeon. 

With a wave of his hand the man summoned his servants.

They were on the ground floor of the castle. The surgeons were busy turning the room with the stone floor into a makeshift hospital. Benjamin shivered when he detected the saw and forceps on the table, the heaps of linen bandages, the jars of salve and brandy.

“Now, come on, young man, let’s see what you have got there.”

“A sabre cut,” Father Michael answered on Benjamin’s behalf. “This is Deacon Benjamin Kenneberg, he’s new here and ran into the redcoats.”

“All right.” The surgeon pointed at an arm chair. “Get out of your jacket and your shirt and sit down there.”

Benjamin’s hands shook too badly to open his jacket. Father Michael assisted.

“Maybe it isn’t so deep that you have to sew it?” Benjamin hated how weak he sounded, his question being a terrified plea actually.

Father Michael eased the jacket from Benjamin’s shoulders. Every Jesuit novice underwent at least three months of hospital training, and Benjamin had suffered through his own of course, disgusted by every minute of it. But now he was the patient, and they would expose him, shove a wooden gag between his teeth and then ...

He clutched at his shirt, when Father Michael tried to tug it from his trousers. “No!”

“What’s the primary virtue of a Jesuit, Benjamin?” Father Michael asked sternly.

“Obedience.” Benjamin bit his lower lip. The left sleeve of his shirt was dark with blood, and he felt light-headed and sick watching it.

“Right. And you will obey! That is, you will undress and let the surgeon see to your wound!”

 _But then they’ll see ..._ Benjamin shook his head frantically. They would see all the dirt, see what the redcoats had done to him! The mere thought of pulling the soiled fabric over his head made him retch. They would see it, the blood, the semen, the shit.

“I’ll be there all the time, nobody will do you harm here,” Father Michael promised in a more soothing voice. “Think of the martyrs, who suffered through much worse than enduring a simple sabre cut, and think of Jesus Christ, and be strong for him!”

“It’s because of ... what they said. The redcoats!” Benjamin ground out, swallowing down bile, “I’m dirty down there and ...”

“What’s the problem?” the surgeon asked.

“Benjamin was brutalized by a redcoat,” Father Michael answered primly. Seeing Benjamin’s face, he asked, “More than one?”

The surgeon commented this news with an angry growl. “Thank you for not telling me! Did they use any instruments to penetrate you?”

“Instruments?” Benjamin’s hands started to shake again.

“A pistol barrel, a knife or something like that?”

“No!” Shocked he stared at the old man.

“That’s good,” the surgeon said.

“Good?” Benjamin yelped, “They ...”

“What? Fucked you?” the surgeon shrugged with a derisive snort. He went to the table with his instruments and jars and filled a tumbler with brandy. “Yes, that happens. Quite often by the way, in case you didn’t knew that. You may hurt as hell, but if they only used their cocks, chances are good that only your anus is torn and not your bowels. That means you’ll have some unpleasant weeks ahead, but it will heal. Now drink this, and keep in mind that it’s a ration for a wounded officer – and an officer’s bravery I expect from you when we’ll clean you up.”

 

***

 

He wasn’t brave. Benjamin hated himself for his weakness, but tears ran down his face. He wasn’t able to drink more than a few sips of the burning liquid. One of the surgeon’s servants put him on the chair and cut open the sleeve of his shirt to see to this wound first. But the other two were sent for hot water. So they would undress him later to wash him and see what the redcoats had done to him.

“Ah, that’s a nice, clean cut,” the surgeon praised, as if Benjamin had done something heroic to receive it. “It’ll heal perfectly.”

“So you don’t have to sew it?” At least in this, Benjamin’s hope rose.

“Just a few stitches.” The old man smiled encouragingly at him. “It’ll be a matter of a few heartbeats, and you’ll be back with your brethren in no time.” He patted Benjamin’s shoulder and turned to the table to prepare his needles.

Benjamin opened his mouth for the wooden gag, bit down on the smooth, hard rod like a panicking horse on the bit. _Now it comes. Lord, have mercy with me!_

He wanted to be brave. But when the surgeon stuck the needle through his flesh, they had to hold him down with three men. Hold him down in a vice grip, like the redcoats had done. One of the menials wore a red vest. For a moment, all blended together: the surgeons, the redcoats, even Father Michael. Benjamin heard himself scream. To let go. For mercy.

And then, there was a shrill sound in his ears, and darkness.

 

***

 

“Any news from Pappenheim’s cavalry, Father?” Father Michael’s voice asked behind his back.

“No,” an older man sighed deeply. “If they've already made it to Halle and started to settle into their winter quarters, General Pappenheim might have a mutiny on his hands when he orders his troops back here. But if his cavalry doesn’t return until sunrise, we’re doomed, that’s for certain. The Swedes have arrived already. You can see their campfires all over the plain in the south.”

That got Benjamin’s attention. So it wasn’t only artillery they were lacking, but cavalry, too. In his mind’s eye he saw Captain von Innow do a happy dance.

He tried to sit up and found that he was bound again. In a fit of panic he started to wriggle and to kick.

“Easy, Benjamin, easy!” Strong hands turned him onto his back. He stared into Father Michael’s face.

They were no longer with the surgeons, but in a stately room with a fire place and tapestries. Benjamin was wrapped in a blanket and had been made immobile by that. He lay on a bed with a big pillow. Father Michael sat with him, and an old priest squinted down at him, his face showing similar concern. Further down the room stood several more men in black. They turned back to a table, stared at it like strategists on a map and continued to discuss in low voices.

The older priest excused himself with a nod. “In case the day is ours tomorrow, I’ll inform His Highness of his case, of course,” he said, and ‘his’ meant Benjamin from the way the ancient man looked at him. “But at the moment such news would only raise the general’s ire further.”

“Of course, and thank you,” Father Michael said, not much hope in his voice.

Benjamin stared after the disappearing priest and wondered if he had been honoured to be acknowledged by Wallenstein’s father confessor. At least the Generalissimus was a Highness (the Duke of Friedland in Bohemia and – much to Captain von Innow’s annoyance – the Duke of Mecklenburg, too), and he was quite famous for his fits of raving ire.

“How do you feel?” Father Michael asked, his voice and face concerned.

Rotten. Hurting all over and too warm in the face. Benjamin needed a moment to collect all his sore spots. For a change, his arm was the worst of them. He tugged down the blanket and looked at the linen bandage. “I passed out, did I?” On top of feeling awful, he felt awfully embarrassed, too. “I’m sorry.”

“Never mind,” Father Michael said with an encouraging grin. “It’s good that you managed to faint so fast: it makes better sutures.”

Benjamin felt sheepish nevertheless. It didn’t help to reduce his blush when Father Michael said, “You were washed and your other problem was treated with wound salve. I'm supposed to tell you not to worry if it feels quite greasy now. After all, the surgeon thinks that you were lucky.”

“Lucky?” Benjamin groaned and covered his face with his hands in shame. The surgeon or his servants had taken the time to shave him too. The stubble was gone. Good. No-one needed a red-bearded servant of the Lord.

“Don’t hide like a little child,” Father Michael scolded in a friendly voice. “I brought you new clothes.” He took a pile of black fabric from the bedside. “Do you want something to eat?”

Benjamin let his hands fall down onto the blanket. No, not really. But out of politeness he said, “That would be a kindness.”

“Good. I’ll be back in a minute.” Father Michael pressed the stack of clothes into Benjamin’s hands, rose and went to the door.

Benjamin watched him go. Father Michael in his friendly ways would make a good hospital brother. Father Andreas would have snarled at him not to make a fuss and get out of bed at once.

Well, getting out of bed and not moaning would be the only way to get the brethren's respect. Getting out of bed meant dressing first. Benjamin didn’t dare to imagine how Father Michael had carried him inside here, wrapped in nothing but a blanket, unconscious for everybody to see. He took the fresh shirt from under the pile of clothes and pulled it over his head.

It took some writhing to dress under a blanket, but he didn’t want them to see him naked. Especially not Bruckmann who was among them and looked up when Benjamin started to move. He also didn’t want to see his own body, the abrasions, the bruises. He could feel them, finger-shaped stripes on his hips, colouring patches inside his thighs. He shivered in revulsion. Better not to think about it. And yet, in his mind’s eye, he was back under the redcoats again.

Benjamin pulled the trousers under the blanket too to put them on. Pulling them up he noticed the bandage around his knee. Was there one patch of skin on him that was not battered by now?

His feet looked unsuspicious. But when he sat up to put on the socks and shoes, his ass hurt as if a blade were shoved up it. Benjamin bent over, gasping for air, and tried to find a more bearable position. What had the surgeon said? ‘Just the anus torn’? Better not to think about it.

At the table, the meeting came to an end. They said a prayer, then folded cards and papers, and most men left the room.

But not Bruckmann.

 _Go away, go away!_ Benjamin prayed and busied himself with putting on socks and shoes. But he heard steps heading in his direction, saw a shadow falling over him. He schooled his features into what he hoped was a serene mien and looked up.

Bruckmann frowned at him, saying nothing.

That was progress in comparison with earlier years.

“Thank you for vouching for me,” Benjamin opted for a neutral beginning.

Bruckmann nodded, his lips twitching with the ghost of a grin. “Don’t expect me to say ‘you’re welcome’,” he said, his voice light as if chatting with an old friend. “If it weren’t for your witch mark, I would scarcely have recognized you. You look like shit.”

Unconsciously Benjamin put his hand onto his cheek to cover the dark mole. For a moment he asked himself if burning it out would be a solution.

“Anyway,” Bruckmann – or Father Johannes Bruckmann as he would be addressed now – continued. “I see you found a mentor already. At this, you’re quite a natural I’d say.”

Benjamin frowned at him. _Don’t listen to his poison,_ he told himself. He stood up, trying hard not to wince, and unfolded the cassock. “Father Michael certainly knows what the term compassion means,” he said in an icy voice, and harrumphed then because his throat was sore.

“Sure,” Bruckmann said. Pointing at the black cassock, the garb of a clergyman, he asked haughtily, “Do you think you deserve it?”

 _I won’t get angry, I won’t!_ Benjamin clenched his fists. The holy orders had changed nothing in Father Johannes. He was still the spiteful, condescending brat whom Benjamin remembered.

“Father Michael and his superior seem to think so.” He put on the long coat with the many tiny buttons.

“Do they?” Bruckmann asked in a sweet voice. “Do you really think so? Honestly, you’d do the Order a service to bugger off, Kenneberg. Haven’t you seen how Holk’s cuirassiers laughed at you? What’s to become of the Order’s authority, if every redcoat can boast of what a good fuck one of us made? Ah, come on, you don’t want to raise your fist against a priest, do you? If you want violence, tomorrow you have the chance to receive everlasting fame as martyr.”

With a wink and a smirk he turned and went away, joining the two priests, who had waited at the door.

Benjamin stared after them, stunned. _They can’t really think that. Want that. No! No, that’s just Bruckmann’s machinations!_

_But what if not? What if they really think that way? Yes, what would the redcoats boast about? The cuirassiers tell as a joke? What’s to become of the Order’s authority? Oh Lord!_

He flopped onto the bed, pulled the blanket around him. _What will become of the Order’s authority, if everybody knows you as the redcoats’ boy whore?_ Moaning, he pressed his arms onto his stomach, curling himself up. _That’s not fair! Lord, that’s not fair!_

‘Yes, but if you look at it closely, you would do the Order a favour,’ the devil said with a shrug. ‘Look, what are you worth anyway? Your parents sent you away, because every heir less keeps the family clan wealthier; the chances that you stay away from your sins are almost non-existent; and now you insist of damaging the Order openly with your presence? How prideful is that? You’re the bad seed that will be burnt anyway. If you want them to remember you, then better as ‘Benjamin Kenneberg, who fell in a battle against the heretics’ than as ‘Isn’t that the one who was fucked by the redcoats?’.’

Sobbing, Benjamin buried his face in the pillow. _I didn’t survive all of this to seek death tomorrow!_ For a moment he had the vision of Captain von Innow’s company in full career thundering towards him. Three strides in gallop, and Captain von Innow recognized him, the traitor and thief, and shot him straight in the chest. If he was lucky and the captain’s hand sure, he would not feel the black horse trampling over him any more.

“Benjamin! Hey!” A hand on his shoulder, shaking him none too gently.

He looked up. Father Michael was back. Resolutely, Benjamin wiped the tears from his face.

“Father, would you hear my confession?”

# Chapter 11

“Stop that rubbish, Benjamin! Taking an ancient gospel from a heretic to bargain your way to freedom and to return to our Order is no theft, but a heroic deed!” Father Michael stated.

Taken aback, Benjamin frowned at his new father confessor. The word ‘rubbish’ had never been applied to his contrition before. “But I broke my word of honour.”

“A heretic is a dishonest person _per se_ , Benjamin, and you owe them nothing, you certainly know that!” Father Michael rebuked him softly. “You did what you saw fit to warn our army. You did well.”

“But why the redcoats then?” Benjamin exclaimed. “What have I done ...” He held his breath. Oh, yes, he knew.

But he wasn’t sure if he would ever find Father Michael’s forgiveness, if he confessed the worst of all.

The Austrian’s gaze bored into him. ‘Examine your conscience!’ it said.

“When I was with the heretic, and he molested me...”

“You already told me about it.”

“About what he did. But not about me.”

Father Michael nodded at him to continue. His brown eyes were compassionate, but Benjamin wondered how long he would be regarded with any compassion once the truth was out.

“Not only that I did react to his machinations ...” He hung his head.

“You enjoyed them on some level?” Father Michael suggested carefully, his voice lacking the disgust Benjamin expected. Father Andreas would have snarled at him.

Benjamin nodded. He couldn’t tell anymore if his body's pain was still worse than his soul’s. He wished he could at least weep properly like a penitent. “He made me hope for more. The next day, when I remembered what he had done, I got aroused, and in a shabby compromise I excused my weakness by telling myself that I was better advised to engage in a solitary sexual sin than be caught by him in such a state of shame. And when we were in bed the next night, I told him not to touch me, and he didn’t, but yet I _craved_ it, and I thought, if he would just force me again, I might feel lust without committing a sin.”

Father Michael sighed. “Was it the first time that you wanted to sin with another man?”

Benjamin slumped as far as one could when kneeling. “No.”

“And how often did you abuse yourself with mankind before?”

“Never!” Benjamin shook his head vigorously. “Just with myself. My former father confessor said I would overcome it with time by mortifying my flesh through prayer and the discipline, and I tried so hard – and then this Swedish bastard showed me how vain all my efforts were. The Lord was right to punish me! It’s just ... I’m so afraid ... of the pox and all that!”

Now he could sob, though it was with fear and not with contrition.

“You must trust in the Lord, Benjamin!” the priest admonished and nudged him to look up. “And you shouldn’t be afraid and lament over punishment, but you should be truly contrite because you offended our Lord by indulging in the sin of Sodom.”

Benjamin nodded and wiped his eyes. “I am.”

“Good. The redcoats certainly showed you that there is nothing desirable in this sin.” Father Michael’s voice became very grave when he added, “Regard it as a warning, and be grateful that you were given the chance to do penance. If they had killed you in your state of sin you would have fallen into eternal damnation. It is, by the way, presumptuous to claim that the Lord sent you the redcoats to punish you. It might have been the devil’s doing as well, judging from who were the means. Our Lord saved you, never doubt that!”

“But why aren’t _they_ punished then!”  Benjamin’s throat became tight, and not only by the upcoming fever. “Why are these devils allowed to be part of the Emperor’s army at all!”

Father Michael frowned at Benjamin. “The heretics, be they Lutherans or Calvinists, are a wound in the body of the Holy Roman Empire!” he stated, steel in his voice. “And although nobody wants to touch a white-hot iron, sometimes you badly need said iron to burn out a festering sore before it poisons and kills the body. I detest Isolani’s thugs as well, and they are of no great military use either, but they are a means to menace the heretics, so they serve the just cause, after all; and at the moment we’re awfully short of any cavalry.”

“Of course, Father.” Benjamin sighed. Inside his head, the devil giggled like mad. Benjamin hugged himself. The wound in his arm burned and throbbed, and he thought of steel in a smith’s foundry.

“If you look at it closely,” Father Michael continued in a gentler tone of voice, “you won’t find ten good Christians in this army. Even most of our officers are nothing but soldiers of fortune, whoremongers and louts. There are no more protectors of faith around here like the late General Tilly. But aside from the poor state of our soldiers’ personal morals – as a whole they serve the higher aim: to wipe out heresy and to bring back peace and the Lord’s grace upon us. Let’s never forget that!”

‘The peace of the graveyards!’ Benjamin remembered von Innow growl, and he wondered if he would now have the insurgent’s voice in his head as well – on top of the devil, who caused caused too much havock to be the voice of his conscience.

But Father Michael was right. It had been a warning, and he should be grateful to be alive and able to save his soul. Never ever again did he want to have anything to do with the sin of Sodom and horse-trade for lust without sin. The redcoats had shown him what rape really was about.

“For these and all the sins of my past life, I ask pardon of God, penance, and absolution from you, Father.”

Father Michael nodded. “For now, you will say the Anima Christi, and pray a Rosary. And as soon as we are rid of the Swedish menace, you will do your Exercises again and ask yourself honestly if you are really cut out to become a Jesuit.”

Benjamin gaped at him, feeling as if he had been slapped in the face. Father Andreas had never left a doubt that Benjamin would make a fine priest one day.

But Father Michael stated, “Our Order has no use for sinners and hypocrites, for we fight the sin and hypocrisy in our Holy Church! It is us, the Societas Jesu, who will truly reform our Holy Mother Church – not some dirty Protestants who call their ridiculous heresies a reform. And as you certainly know, we have many enemies: not the heretics alone, but all these orders, priests and bishops who have become lazy and fat in their old ways and abandoned their duty to preach and propagate the true faith! Every lapse of a member of our Society is exploited by them for the most despicable propaganda against us, and therefore, we must be beyond the shadow of a doubt!”

Benjamin swallowed hard. “I understand that, Father. And I’ll do everything to live up to the Order’s aims.”

Father Michael put a hand on Benjamin’s shoulder. “Good. Now say your prayers, and then rest and heal.”

Slightly puzzled, Benjamin looked at him. Hadn’t the priest forgotten to give him at least forty days of penance? It would be terribly rude, however, to ask “Is this all?”

A sad smile tugged at Father Michael’s lips. “You didn’t expect to get a discipline, battered as you already are, do you?”

Benjamin cast down his eyes. Father Andreas certainly would have beaten him for his failure. Benjamin’s voice was tight when he said the Act of Contrition, and never before he had understood its last words so well: “I firmly resolve, with the help of Thy grace, to sin no more and avoid the near occasions of sin. Amen.“

Hearing the priest granting him absolution, Benjamin wept with relief. Father Michael said a prayer for him and blessed him.

Benjamin crossed himself, and wiped his eyes and cheeks before he thanked the priest, but he couldn’t help the tears. Now he would find grace in the eyes of the Lord again.

“There,” Father Michael said, and gave Benjamin his rosary. “Take it for the time being. And no added penance from your side, is this understood? These times are too dire to exhaust us with self-flagellation or fasting exercises.”

“Thank you, Father.” Benjamin resolutely pushed away the little devil who was about to nag about the too mild penance.

He stood, and Father Michael rose from his chair.

“You know,” the Austrian said with a lopsided smile, “I bet yours was the only honest contrition I’ll hear tonight. I’ll have to see a lot of our officers for the Sacrament of Penance now, but I doubt that I’ll get anything from them but horse-trade for their souls that is forgotten as soon there’s the next occasion to sin.”

Benjamin didn’t know what to answer, but he was relieved that Father Michael found him trustworthy.

The priest pointed invitingly at the Madonna on a cupboard next to the big table. “I’ll see you in the morning. Prepare to help me with Mass.”

Benjamin nodded. Yes, that was why he had come here. But unbidden, there was the thought of the redcoats, pointing at him and yelling ‘Next time we fuck you!’

Father Michael’s concerned look told Benjamin that his terror was obvious. “I’m assigned to the artillery for tomorrow,” he said. “There won’t be any riders.”

Benjamin tried to pull himself together. “Won’t I be a burden for the Order’s authority?” he asked the question that weighed on his soul like a stone.

Father Michael pinched his lips in an unhappy white line. “We really must see to it to have these scoundrels hanged to show everybody that we will not tolerate any transgressions against our Order,” he said then, frowning furiously. “On the other hand, I have order to go to Prague and report there as soon as the battle is over. You might accompany me. That would be the best solution for us all. Have you ever been to Prague?”

Benjamin shook his head in wonder. He would visit the biggest city in the Empire.

“You’ll like it,” Father Michael promised. “But now excuse me, some of the high and mighty are not used to waiting and might lose their last scrap of contrition if they have to.”

With an encouraging grin, he left Benjamin.

And encouragement was needed, Benjamin realised when he knelt down in front of the Madonna. He had to say the Pater Noster first, and because he was forgiven now, he had to forgive the ones who wronged him.

Strangely enough, the first person who came to his mind, was Captain von Innow. Who was a heretic to the core. Benjamin suspected that even the Lutheran preachers would regard the captain as godless. He didn't have to forgive him at all.

And yet he wanted to. After all, the captain had not handed him over to the executioner as he had been told. And to forgive him would shame that bloody bugger. Not that the captain would ever know. But Benjamin resolved to forgive him and hoped the act of forgiving a heretic was not a heresy in itself. He had never discussed this question with Father Andreas. Until now, it had never been necessary to do so.

To let go of the anger and vengeance he felt towards to redcoats and Madame Clara, however, was an entirely different task. He could pray that the evil-doers stop doing their evil and come to Christ, and he did. But if he was honest he wanted to see these bastards hang. Badly.

“Am I forgiven if I can not forgive them?” Benjamin asked the Madonna, who smiled at her child, but didn’t deign to look at him.

_How easy revenge could be if I were a mere soldier, but not a soldier of the Lord. Gather your comrades and your weapons and slay these gits at the first opportunity when there’s no provost around._

_But if Father Michael sues the redcoats, there will be a provost and a trial, in which I must testify, and there will be lots of curious officers, who will all know by then what had happened to me._

_I can’t do this._

“I know that one is punished according to one’s sins, and I know that I should not complain,” Benjamin told the Mother of God. “But did it have to happen in a way that will make people laugh at me? Surviving the Swedes’ attempt to hang me made me a hero. But _this_ will make everybody think that I’m too weak to defend himself, a coward because I didn’t fight to the death and didn’t choose honour over life. But I could not fight. They were too many. Forgive me that I hate them, but I do.”

But unlike the Madonna back in their College in Mainz, who gazed sternly at the beholder, this one depicted a young mother wrapped up in joy about her child, and the child smiled back at her, not at the man who prayed at Him.

“Soul of Christ, sanctify me.  
Body of Christ, save me.  
Blood of Christ, inebriate me.  
Water from the side of Christ, wash me.  
Passion of Christ, strengthen me.  
O good Jesus, hear me.  
Within Thy wounds, hide me.  
Separated from Thee let me never be.  
From the malignant enemy, defend me.  
At the hour of death, call me.  
To come to Thee, bid me,  
That I may praise Thee in the company  
Of Thy Saints, for all eternity. Amen.”

Benjamin said the Rosary then, taking his time to meditate properly on the Sorrowful Mysteries, and when he was done he continued to kneel in his spot, cold and overtired, and waited for a miracle, for the Mother of God to look at him, for some sign that he was entirely forgiven, even if he himself could not forgive the ones who had wronged him so badly.

Watching the Mother of God smiling at her child made his thoughts wander to his own mother, who went by the name Maria too. Sending him on his way to Mainz, she had hugged him close and had said through her tears, ‘I’m so proud of you, Benjamin, you’re going to be a priest! There has never been a priest before in my family.’

‘Ask yourself if you are really cut out to become a Jesuit.’ Father Michael’s advice filled him with cold dread.

When his own father had introduced him to the priest of their village, the old man had said, ‘You’ve got a boy with good wits there, Wilhelm. If you want a good education for him, take him to Mainz to the Jesuit college. You won’t find a better school in the monasteries, and the Jesuits are the future of our church.’

And now, his sinful leanings would make him fail. Of course, he might continue his education at the Jesuit universities and become a parish priest or join another order. The sombre Dominicans, for example. Or the outdated Franciscans. Benjamin snorted with well-trained contempt.

Everything but becoming a Jesuit would taste of failure.

“Funny somehow, for all I wanted back then was to become the cartwright’s apprentice,” Benjamin confided in the mother of God. It had already been agreed, before in late winter the fever killed Ursula and the little Katharina, who had actually been looking forward to follow the Kennebergs’ family tradition and, as the youngest child of the family, join the clergy.

‘When I’m a nun, I’ll learn to write and become a saint!’ she had boasted. But the Lord took the little sisters away and let Benjamin and the older siblings survive barely; and suddenly it had been him, who was chosen to pray for the family’s souls.

‘You’ll live safely in a big city,’ his pious aunts had said. “And you will be blessed by the archbishop himself!’

On a hot summer day, he was for the last time allowed to ride on his father’s draught horse; and when they entered the huge city with its ten thousand inhabitants, the crowd was bustling with rumours and news, because the great General Tilly had just beaten ‘Mad’ Christian of Brunswick’s heretic army a few miles away at Höchst. It had been the summer of 1622, ten years ago, and Benjamin realized now that he had almost spent the same amount of time with the Jesuits as with his family before. _So who is family now?_ he wondered.

Unbidden Father Andreas came into his mind, lecturing that it might be right for a little child to love his mother, for a husband to love his wife, but that this love was a lesser one, only a mere reflection of the love of God, and this love of God was the only love one had to strive for, and with it one would never, ever be alone or disappointed.

Benjamin glanced at the Madonna, and the devil nagged that the love of God wouldn’t give you a hug when you needed one.

He felt tired, ill and homesick, but even if he were to return home, he would never be a coddled little child again. They expected him to become nothing less than a priest.

As a fully-fledged Jesuit, he would teach for several years in one of the many Jesuit schools or colleges. He might become a scholar, excelling in mathematics, astronomy or law and publish books to join the latest debate on witch trials. He might become the father confessor of a prince – of the Emperor even, if Father Lamormaini might fall out of favour one day. He might become a preacher, convert the heretics in the reconquered parts of the Empire and save their souls. He would be envied by the Dominicans for his rhetoric skills and irk some fat bishops by insisting that they return to a life-style appropriate for a clergyman: no mistresses, no banquets, no hunts, but reading Mass, preaching the true faith and putting the needs of the Holy Church over the petty demands of their family clans. If he was _really_ good, he might even become a missionary. Facing grim Chinese swordsmen or axe-wielding Iroquois seemed much more desirable than leaving this room and running into Isolani’s pack.

Drowsily, he wondered what his life would have been like if he had actually stayed in his village, if he had become a cartwright. Perhaps he would have married one of the cartwright’s daughters, and she would hold their baby in her arms smiling at the child as the Madonna did?

Certainly he would not demand of his own children to become clergymen if they didn’t ask for it themselves. Recommend it to them as every good Christian should, but not force them.

And if for some reason the cartwright had sent him home for being too clumsy an apprentice, he might as well have renounced his right of inheritance to join his father’s trade as a future menial of his oldest brother. Perhaps he would steer a wagon full of casks of wine to Mainz, sell them to the Swedes, and consider it good business!

Benjamin snorted. _And run into Captain von Innow in his last year’s winter accommodation! But I might as well run into marauders as bad as the redcoats, or even into the redcoats themselves for we_ will _recapture Mainz one day. And then they might be gone with the horses, the wine and the wagon, leaving me raped and beaten up or have me slain like the poor sod in the stable over there at the market place. Wonder if anybody misses him already._

Benjamin said a prayer for the poor soul, too.

 _At least_ , he thought after the Amen, _I’m still alive, which_ is _a gift these days._

He resolved to light a candle for the poor stable hand tomorrow, and to do it every year from now on.

Thinking of the stable, Benjamin saw himself as some honourable Imperial officer’s horse boy.

_And later a soldier of my own right, with some luck even an officer. I might fight the redcoats then. But no, that wouldn’t be right. Fighting them would mean being in a heretic army._

Benjamin crossed himself. _But I would certainly show this Isolani how a regiment is kept in exemplary discipline ... Have a dapple-grey Spanish stallion then ... a well-trained one, not such unreliable beasts like von Innow’s black, which is scared of drums, or the bucking red roan._

Benjamin’s eyes dropped shut while he saw stately horses and the cornets with the Holy Virgin blazing in the sunlight as he led a successful attack against the heretics to free Saxony and the whole Empire, his brave regiment behind him and the heretics afraid to ride into hostile fire.

_I might take one Captain von Innow prisoner, and ..._

Something grazed his shoulder, and he started.

Blinking into the dim light of a single candle, he saw another priest kneel in front of the Madonna. Benjamin hadn’t heard him enter.

“Hail Mary, Full of Grace, The Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou amongst women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus,” the man growled, his Latin rolling off his tongue with a heavy Spanish accent. He crossed himself and continued, “Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now, and at the hour of death. Amen. And make Pappenheim return in time or we are doomed if we have to rely on Holk, Colloredo and these other idiots. Amen!”

Taken aback, Benjamin stared at the Spaniard. That was not the way he would talk to the Mother of God, and when the man put a scourge onto the floor in front of him and said the Confiteor, Benjamin crossed himself and stood up.

Though he backed up silently like a good brother would to, the Spanish priest turned after his next Amen and snarled, “You had better not run, boy, or are you free of sin?”

Benjamin sketched a bow to greet the superior, but answered, “Father Michael told me to rest and stay away from self-flagellation until I’m healed.”

“Bah, this Austrian faint-heart has no idea of true penance!” the Spaniard spat. “Shirkers like him are the true reason why the Lord hasn’t granted us victory a long time ago, but punishes us with constant onslaughts of heretics! If the Catholic party weren't almost as morally rotten as the heretics themselves, we would have wiped out this Protestant plague in its mere beginnings!” He grabbed the _flagellum_ , and pointed at Benjamin with it. “If you are afraid of the whip, you’ll never become a humble Christian! No wonder the Dominicans laugh at our Order and gossip we were too lax with dealing out and doing penance!”

Benjamin couldn’t help but frown. The Spanish fathers were notorious for their know-all manner, because it had been one of their nation, Saint Ignatius of Loyola, who had founded the Societas Jesu. He thanked the Lord above and the Mother of God as well that it had been Father Michael, who had taken him under his wing.

“I appreciate your advice, Father,” he said, his voice as humble as he could make it. “But I will obey my father confessor in this matter.”

With an angry growl, the Spaniard turned his back to him. “No wonder that the affairs of the Empire are that rotten!”

Benjamin looked away when the man exposed his scarred back. He returned to the bed and pulled the blanket over his head when the blows started to fall onto skin in rhythm with the prayers. He clutched to Father Michael’s rosary and thanked the Mother of God for the kind Austrian.

Shortly before he fell asleep, from the market place a church bell tolled midnight and put an end to the 15th November in the year of our Lord 1632.


	3. Chapter 3

# Chapter 12

On 16th November 1632, it might have been the square of pale winter light that crept up over the blankets to his face or the distant thunder of a light cannon that made Benjamin stir. Or it might have been the insistent scraping of a spoon in an iron cooking kettle.

Unaware of all this, Benjamin turned onto his left side – and pain struck him like lightning. With a yelp he started, pulling his wounded muscles even more.

Kettle and spoon were set down with a clatter, and light steps hurried in his direction. “May I help you? Sir? Please?”

When his sight cleared and could breathe instead of gasping Benjamin saw a young boy in a blue jacket cowering at his bedside. No-one else was in the room.

“Where ..?” Benjamin croaked, but the blue of the young servant’s jacket reminded him of the Swedes. Had they taken the castle already? He didn’t dare ask where his fellow Jesuits had gone.

The boy, however, understood his question. “Father Michael told me to look after you,” he explained. Ducking his head he added, “I’ll fetch new soup from the kitchen. It was all cold already, I swear.”

Benjamin cleared his throat. Soup was the least of his concerns. “What about the battle?”

“The Swedes are marching up,” the boy reported, his voice timid. “But with the help of the Lord all will be well. I’ll get you soup.” With that he jumped up, grabbed the kettle, and hurried from the room.

So it’s not the Swedes you’re afraid of but of being punished for eating my breakfast soup. Benjamin gazed blearily after the child. The pain throbbed in his arm, his arse hurt, and his face was hot with fever. Why did he have to wake up at all?

‘The Swedes are marching up.’ In his mind’s eye, he saw Father Andreas glare down at him: ‘The enemy is marching up, and you lie in bed like a little child! What a shame!’

Benjamin groaned.

He knew what Father Andreas would say right now: ‘As long as you’re not dead, you’ll do your duty!’

 _Wish I were dead,_ Benjamin thought. _Sleeping. Sleeping in eternity ..._

Unbidden, he imagined Father Andreas’ look of utter contempt when hearing that his protégé had stayed in bed while a battle against the foes of God was going on. Bruckmann would be all too happy to drop that news.

Sighing, Benjamin pushed away the blankets and sat up. Very carefully. He felt like sitting on daggers with a rapier run through his arm. He moaned, wishing the Lord had taken him in his sleep.

Musket shots stirred him from contemplating his misery. These shots were not the joint fire of a whole regiment, but the efforts of snipers – or simply the results of nerves. And down in the castle yard, there was a shouting match of many voices – enraged, cursing.

_I should have a look. And get up. Must get up._

Benjamin shuddered in the morning cold. The servant boy deserved a good hiding because the fire had died down to ashes. Benjamin put on his shoes. He could move his left hand, but his arm was not of much use.

Father Michael had certainly wanted to do him a favour by leaving him behind, but Father Andreas would have insisted that Benjamin do his duty: encourage the soldiers to fight and help the wounded – either to the surgeons or to die a Christian death.

He went to the window and rubbed at the lead-framed patches of glass to allow him sight. But they were misted up from the outside, and all he could see was the nearest wall of the castle and a strip of dull grey sky.

“Move! Inside here!” The shouting from the ground floor grew louder, more aggressive.

Benjamin took the heavy cape someone had left at the table, put it over the clothes he had slept in and left the room. As much as he wished to sleep and to forget everything, he could not stay in bed while the others fought. He could not, would not.

‘But you don’t have to go!’ his own devil whined. ‘If your brethren left you behind they certainly consider you not fit enough for the battle, don’t they?’

 _I will not be called a coward!_ Benjamin frowned. It didn’t need much imagination to picture Bruckmann’s sneer when the priests returned after the victorious battle and find him, their student, still in bed.

The devil scowled when Benjamin shuddered in the wind on the cold stairwell. ‘You know, you could tell the boy to kindle the fire, you could have a hot soup and be in bed right now...’

Walking down the steps of the spiral staircase hurt in the guts, every step shaking his bowels. Pressing a hand on his abdomen, Benjamin walked bowed and slowly like an old man.

But soon he got distracted by the sight downstairs: musketeers were herding civilians into the castle and down into its cellars. The men protested and the women cursed, hugging children and baskets. The soldiers had their swords drawn.

When one of the soldiers spotted Benjamin on the stairs, he called, “Hey, you! Come down here!”

“What are you doing?” Benjamin asked.

“Order of General Wallenstein,” the soldier snarled. “All citizens must be locked up in the castle cellars.”

“I’m hardly a citizen!” Benjamin called, glaring sternly at the soldier and pushing his grey cape back to reveal more of his priestly cassock. “I’m one of your Jesuit army chaplains, and I have order to report to the artillery. Take me there!”

“Take yourself...” the soldier muttered and turned his back on him. But neither he nor his comrades stopped Benjamin when he shuffled his way through soldiers and civilians and out of the yard.

Some of the heretic rabble pulled their children out of his way as if he were a gravedigger in times of the plague. It would be hard work to convert this lot once the battle was won.

 

***

 

The town was covered in winter fog. Benjamin tried to make out the sun. When he finally discovered the milky spot, he guessed it might be late morning, about the eleventh hour.

On the market place waited a row of musketeers with torches. Certainly they were not waiting for him, but to Benjamin they looked like guard of is honour in the morning mist. When Benjamin had passed the church and the inn from which he had escaped last night – it was called _The Golden Lion_ as he saw now –, his “guard of honour” got orders, and they stabbed their torches into the low straw roofs of the houses.

“What the heck are you doing?!” Benjamin called out at the next man who was about to climb onto a barrel to reach a higher roof.

“Orders of General Wallenstein,” the soldier shrugged. “Lend me a hand, Father, will you?”

Benjamin held the torch for the man while he climbed. Why would one burn down a city one held before the battle? In bewilderment he saw fires grow everywhere in the city.

Some said that General Wallenstein was mad. But the same folks had claimed that when down in Bavaria the General gave orders to build an emplacement that was so against all rules of the art of fortification that even some of his own officers wanted their commander-in-chief to be recalled. When the Swedes finally attacked said ‘mad’ fortification, however, they had been beaten for the first time – something the pious late General Tilly never had achieved.

 _So there might be a deeper reason for this mad conflagration, too,_ Benjamin thought, watching with regret the fire creeping through the wet straw. So many neat houses. He hurried on to avoid getting caught in the black smoke.

The few musketeers at the city gate let him pass without a question. They squinted into the fog at their comrades who had taken cover behind a mud wall that surrounded the orchards and gardens outside the city wall of Lützen.

The musketeers had knocked loopholes into the clay wall. Their guns ready and the fuses alight, they were watching what was going on outside: Benjamin heard horses cantering in wet soil, shouts in different languages, some pistol shots.

An officer with a halberd paced behind his musketeers, swearing that the devil himself and all his witches were behind that pea-soup fog.

“Where’s the artillery?” Benjamin called when the officer was near enough.

“Which artillery?” the man asked, scrutinizing Benjamin as if the clergyman were a Swedish spy with orders to blow up the Imperial black powder wagons.

Which artillery? Benjamin was at a loss. Father Michael hadn’t been that specific. “The main battery,” he hazarded a guess.

“Next to the mills.” The officer pointed at the vane of a windmill that stuck out from the mist. To Benjamin’s relief it wasn’t far away, five to seven hundred yards perhaps.

Beyond the orchards, the Naumburg-Leipzig road had changed its face: what had been a well-maintained trade road with a ditch had become now an infantry emplacement: along the road ran two deep trenches and earth walls, giving cover to musketeer regiments who were already waiting for the enemy.

And over there the enemy stood: out of the reach of the Imperial cannon and only partly visible in the morning fog, the Swedish army lined up. Benjamin couldn’t discern their flags, but he was sure that they were already in fighting formation: cavalry on the wings, the main infantry detachments in the middle.

A strange excitement spread through his chest when he watched the two armies and their line-up. This would be a battle, this might decide the war! It was possible to beat the Swedes – General Wallenstein had proven that – and with the help of the Lord, the Emperor’s army would win the war today!

Benjamin folded his hands. “Thank you, Lord, for letting me witness such a great day. Please give me strength. I will be worthy.”

As if the Lord meant to remind him not to stay in the open, a detachment of redcoats returned from the fog. One of their men slumped over the neck of his horse, and a dozen horses milled around with empty saddles. Two riders led the wounded away, while the others – Benjamin wasn’t sure about their number, a company perhaps – regrouped in front of the orchard wall. The growing smoke from the city made them vanish from view when they started their next skirmish at the lining up enemy.

‘And of all people, good Lord, save me from these ba... the redcoats!’ Benjamin prayed. Their sight dampened his spirits and reminded him of his pain. He realized that it wasn’t a wise thing to stand in the middle of the road, even if the musketeers and pikemen in the trenches might consider him brave. Or a stupid greenhorn.

He hurried to make it to the windmills.

The mills were made of wood, yet had been dismantled of their walls. But the miller’s house was a solid dwelling, and lots of musketeers had barricaded themselves in it. Their officers had bought a cask of wine and the men were giving themselves liquid courage. The free drinks made Benjamin think of Captain von Innow, and that thought reminded him of the captain’s speech about ‘smashing that bunch in battle’ – despite his obvious fear of the fight itself.

 _May you be scared shitless over there,_ Benjamin thought with a glance back at the Swedes.

One of the officers summoned him and offered him a drink. Benjamin accepted. It would have been rude to refuse, and after seeing the redcoats he was grateful for some extra courage as well. The wine was lousy stuff, however, and burnt in his sore throat.

 

***

 

When Benjamin finally stepped into the earth walls of the emplacement next to the windmills, he sighed with relief. First, Father Michael was here: he sat next to a trunk with a statuette of Saint Barbara on it, and he still heard confessions. Second, General Wallenstein had not stripped his army of their opportunity to win a battle: sixteen cannon aimed at the Swedish lines. There were even five 24-pounders among them!

“Praise be to Jesus Christ!” In awe Benjamin stared at the mighty bronze barrels. As soon as the Swedes would march into battle distance, they would be in for a nasty surprise.

An artillery officer turned and smirked at him: “Ah, reinforcements!” Then he busied himself again with his square and wedges to prepare the cannon for firing at varying distances when the enemy came closer.

Casting a glance from cannon to clergyman and back, Benjamin wondered if this might be a career for him in case the Jesuits would refuse him. The artillery was the only arm of the services where a commoner could easily make it to officer: mathematics wasn't a subject in which young noblemen excelled.

Father Michael had spotted Benjamin by now and raised his eyebrows. Benjamin bowed, relieved at the moment that the priest couldn’t interrupt the confession. Then he had to give way to gunners, who pushed a cart with tightly knotted canvas rolls into the emplacement.

“These are grapeshots,” the artillery officer explained when Benjamin scrutinized the bundles with a puzzled frown, “Here’s the powder charge, and these slugs,” he pointed at the apple-sized bulges in the other half of the package, “are bullets of a regimental gun, but about thirty of them. Great weapon against cavalry.” He grinned. “It’s like bird-shooting.”

“I see,” Benjamin nodded. Unbidden he saw Captain von Innow’s hands tighten while the cavalry man talked about riding into the artillery fire: ‘From the corner of your eye, you see the first horses fall head over heels with their riders. Pray that your horse is still running!’

The artillery officer frowned at his guest’s fading excitement. “You don’t have any cousins over there, do you?” He pointed at the heretics.

“Good Lord, no!” Benjamin crossed himself. “It’s just...” He searched for an excuse. “I’m ... I feel sorry for the horses.”

“Yes, well, that’s a shame, but what can you do?” The officer shrugged, obviously deciding that the faint-hearted clergyman was of no further interest to him: he went to report to his colonel.

Benjamin cast a glance at Father Michael, who was still busy blessing his penitent. Several men were still queuing. Facing the enemy, these soldiers showed proper respect to a priest, unlike the ruffians in the castle.

On boards that had once made up the wall of a windmill and now made the flooring ramp of a cannon, Benjamin went to the next embrasure and looked outside.

He had no idea how many men were assembled on the Imperial side of the road, but the trenches were full of musketeers for almost two miles, and many more regiments waited in the background. He glimpsed lighter cannon – regimental guns – in front of them, and then there were the cavalry detachments.  All of five regiments were lined up behind this artillery emplacement, facing the burning town. They would intercept anybody who tried to attack the flank of the Imperial army and to take out the artillery. Then there was cavalry behind the first line of musketeers at the trenches as well as in the reserve troops of the second line.

He didn’t know if Pappenheim’s men had returned already, but as it looked like Captain von Innow would soon wish for his full cuirass, that was for certain.

 _If he’s wise he’ll run_ , Benjamin thought.

‘To me he didn’t look like someone who runs away when things get tough,’ the devil objected. ‘You, on the other hand, had better fly in case he makes his way up here.’

Benjamin bit his lower lip. _Yes, if he’ll find me, he’ll slay me like a mangy dog for breaking my word of honour. But, Lord, you know I had to!_

He cast a look at the grapeshots.

‘So much for your heroic plan to take the bear prisoner and teach him manners?’ the demon of his conscience remarked.

No, it was better the captain got killed by a grapeshot salvo, by an Imperial cuirassier’s sword or by a sniper’s bullet from the miller’s house – by anyone as long as he didn’t make it here. And yet ...

Benjamin hugged himself, suddenly feeling sad and helpless. He remembered Karl speaking of saws and mangled limbs and von Innow’s irate reaction.

 _What the hell is the matter with me that I worry for a heretic –_ that _heretic of all people?_

Benjamin leant against the makeshift fortification made of earth and wood.

_Lord, I mean, he is a heretic, and I know I should pray for my brethren now, but if you let him survive, if we take him prisoner, we could show him the error of his ways. I mean ... I know he is a sinner and has offended you gravely, but after all he wasn’t as bad as the redcoats._

_He seemed to like it to talk to me, and if he considers himself in hell already, well, it’s certainly because deep inside he feels the errors of his confession. I could show him. He would certainly understand as soon as he’s separated from this unholy bunch of robbers. He must feel that it’s wrong to fight for them, otherwise he wouldn’t be so afraid to attack us, would he?_

_   
_

__

(In the meantime, on the other side of the road)

 

A heavy hand fell onto his shoulder, and Benjamin started.

“What on earth are you doing here?” Father Michael asked.

_Praying for a heretic?_

Benjamin hung his head. He knew when to demonstrate humility. “Forgive me, Father, but I want to do my duty as everybody else.”

“Your duty is to get well!” the Austrian priest growled. He looked as if he hadn’t slept all night. With a sigh he patted Benjamin’s shoulder. “But I can hardly send you into a burning city.”

Benjamin glanced back at the town that was on fire everywhere now except for the castle. The Lord was with them, making the smoke roll from the burning straw roofs and drift on the wind straight into the Swedes’ eyes. Benjamin got an idea why General Wallenstein had given this ‘mad’ order. “What about Pappenheim’s troops?” he asked. “They haven’t returned yet, have they?”

Father Michael sighed. In a low voice, not audible for the gunners, he said, “We await his cavalry any minute now, and so far the fog has saved us from the beginning of the battle.”

He pointed at the left wing of the Imperial army. “Over there, the ‘cavalry’ of the second line are nothing but trail menials on their draught horses to pretend that our army is complete. There are cuirassiers in front of them, but then there’s nothing but barely armed carters and boys! Pray that Pappenheim makes it here before the Swedes attack.”

Benjamin nodded and folded his hands.

He got distracted, however, by a horse’s hooves stomping on the wooden boards of the emplacement.

Turning, he saw an officer on a huge dark charger talk to the commander of the artillery. The colonel took off his hat and bowed deeply to the tall officer who was dressed in black from head to toe – except for a blood-red silk sash that was slung over his shoulder and a red feather on his hat. Outside the emplacement waited a group of the most elegantly dressed officers Benjamin had seen so far.

The officer in the devil’s colours nodded curtly, obviously satisfied with the colonel’s report. Instead of giving the gunners a speech, he glared menacingly at everyone present before turning his horse and riding to the next detachment.

“Who was that?” Benjamin asked, already certain he knew the answer.

“Our commander-in-chief, General Wallenstein,” Father Michael said, crossing himself.

“I heard he was so badly off with gout that he only travelled in a coach or a sedan chair...” Benjamin trailed off. The officer had been pale, but didn’t look weak at all.

Father Michael turned his head with a jerk.

From the fog there was a new sound among the sporadic shots. It was faint at first: a trumpet tune. But it grew stronger and more and more audible as it spread through the heretic army. They were starting to sing.

Father Michael drew a deep breath and crossed himself. “Here we go!”

Benjamin pricked up his ears. He couldn’t understand a word through the fire some nervous musketeers gave. The tune, however, he had had to endure often enough, and he snarled with disgust: _A Mighty Fortress is Our God_ – the battle hymn of the heretics.

“Go away there!” a gunner called. “With their next song they’ll start to attack!”

Benjamin crossed himself, his stomach clenching.

‘Well, isn’t this what you came here for?’ the devil sneered. ‘A real battle? Not just all these _little_ skirmishes and _boring_ sieges?’

“Hail Mary, Full of Grace, The Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou amongst women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death. Amen.” Benjamin said, but in his mind he agreed with the devil. Yes, he had come here for the battle. All the time he had pestered Father Andreas to send him to the field chaplains he had hoped to witness a battle. A real one, like General Tilly’s victory in 1622 – the week Benjamin had joined the Jesuit college in Mainz. Every boy had wanted to become an army chaplain then.

_I just wish I wasn't feeling that rotten._

Father Andreas pulled Benjamin from the embrasure. “Stay close behind me! It’ll get quite busy soon.”

He went to the cannon and made the sign of the cross at the muzzle of each one. May they help the Emperor’s army to win the battle for the true faith, and may they refrain from bursting.

The tune from the other side of the street changed.

Through the embrasures Benjamin saw the flags move. Cavalry cornets. Light blue ones among them. Yet the singing was louder than the horses’ hooves on the wet soil. From the trenches and the miller’s house some more musket shots broke.

“Easy, easy, let them come close!” the colonel of the artillery told the men with the fuses.

Benjamin knew how crucial it was for the effectiveness of the first salvo to fire at point-blank range. But he felt like jumping out of his skin when he saw the masses of men and horses march up as fast as the infantry could stride. They vanished into the smoke.

And reappeared from it shortly before the trenches.

Roaring.

“GOD WITH US!”

“JESUS, MARIA!” the Imperial soldiers roared back.

And then the cannon drowned everyone.

# Chapter 13

The cannons roared, spitting iron, fire and smoke. The ground trembled under Benjamin’s feet when the heavy guns rebounded on their board ramps. As soon as the guns lost their momentum, the teams of gunners gripped the spokes. Using the angle of the ramp, they pushed the gun carriages back into their former position.

With ramrods with a wet cloth on top the gunners cleaned the barrels of the remnants of gleaming black powder. Then they had to dry the barrel before their comrades could load the cannon again.

Father Michael sang the _Te Deum Laudamus_ to encourage the soldiers, and Benjamin joined in. His sore throat, however, might have done a crow proud. Father Michael gestured at him to spare his voice. Benjamin was grateful.

Outside the emplacement, heavy musket fire mingled with the shouts of men already in close combat. The Swedes, a regiment under a green flag, had made it into the first trench next to the artillery emplacement. Having no time to reload their muskets, the soldiers fought with swords, daggers and the musket butts. The fire came from the lines behind them, on both sides of the trenches, and from the miller’s house.

A hiss, and the earth of their fortification rocked and sprayed up: the enemy’s cannon took the Imperialist artillery under fire. The gunners hurried to shovel the black powder into the barrels, plug it with wadding and load the cannon balls. Some also loaded the grapeshots.

Seconds later, the world went white and sulphurous again, when the cannon sent death into the enemy’s lines, cutting aisles into the Swedish musketeer companies who were marching up to the trenches.

Benjamin knew he had to keep his mouth open when he was next to a firing gun, but after the second salvo he barely heard the words of Father Michael’s sung prayer. The gunners shouted at each other at the top of their lungs.

When the wind had carried the worst of the smoke away, Benjamin noticed the horses outside. Through the embrasures, he caught a glimpse of red. Over there: between the mills and the black smoke drifting over the city walls.

The redcoats! The redcoats were fleeing at full career. Despite the fire they got from behind the mud walls around the city, the Swedish cuirassiers had made it over the road and the trenches and were close behind Isolani’s pack. The light blue cornets, Captain von Innow’s cornets, were flying in the first line of the attack. Benjamin ran to the entryway of the emplacement. He had to see that!

For a moment he wished to cheer the Swedes on: kill them, kill them all! But then he realized what was about to happen: The redcoats would crash into their own troops! Five regiments of Imperial cuirassiers and arquebusiers – cavalrymen armed with wheel-lock guns – stood their ground, facing the Swedes. But instead of wheeling in front of them to the left into the bogs behind the city, the redcoats tried to canter right through their lines!

Horses reared, panicked. Under the onslaught of their own light cavalry, the regiment in the middle of the five Imperial bodies dissolved into chaos. Many of the arquebusiers fought with their stampeding beasts, unable to fire at the enemy.

“GOD WITH US!”  At full gallop, the Swedes rode straight into the melee, firing their pistols, hacking with their swords at the arquebusiers. The centre of the right Imperial cavalry wing turned into a pandemonium of fighting men and frightened horses. The redcoats, however, fled backwards, towards where the train stood, half-hidden in the fog, and many arquebusiers rushed off right behind them.

“Get out of here!”

Benjamin jumped when Father Michael gripped his shoulder. Whirling around, he pointed at the cavalry battle. “Over there, the light blue flags! That’s von Innow’s regiment! The captain I told you about. If we can take him prisoner we can demand the books as ransom!“

Father Michael ducked when the next salvo of the Swedish artillery hit, closer this time. Two balls of a six-pounder made it into the emplacement. One crashed into a cart, the other one got stuck in the earth-filled basket walls of the fortification. Father Michael pulled Benjamin with him, back into the corner with Saint Barbara. He shoved Benjamin down in front of the trunk with the saint: “Pray! And don’t you dare leave cover again!”

That didn’t however keep the priest from going off to bless the cannon before the next shot.

Benjamin tried in vain to contemplate Saint Barbara and her martyrdom now. Honestly, he didn’t know if there was a special prayer for the Saint in connection with the Imperial artillery. “Saint Barbara, pray for us,” Benjamin asked. “Please make our cannon hit and make them refrain from bursting, and make sure that the damned Swedes don’t hit our black powder.” Casting a glance over his shoulder, he could still see the entryway of the emplacement, the cavalry outside, only a few hundred steps away. But presently, reinforcements for their own infantry came marching up and blocked his view.

 

***

 

The reinforcements had made it. The gunfire outside receded after a while.

Father Michael gestured at Benjamin him to stand up and follow him.

They left the emplacement. Outside, the cavalry parted too. The Swedes turned their horses, escaped into the smoke and fog, leaving dead and wounded men and horses behind.

Benjamin craned his head. There! _If Innow has been shot or lost his horse ..._

Father Michael pulled him toward the trenches.

“You will not – do you hear me, boy – you will not set out on any adventure now, searching for ransom, or prey, or revenge, do you hear me!” the priest barked at Benjamin. “We are here to encourage our soldiers, to rescue the wounded or to help them to die a Christian death. _Our_ wounded, understood?”

“Yes, Father.” Benjamin hung his head. Inside his head he heard von Innow talk about being run over by his own company and the counter-attack as well.

 

***

 

“Father, please, come here!” The musketeers beckoned Father Michael to the front line. Benjamin stared at the many men who were pulled dead or wounded from the trenches, while new soldiers took their place. The field in front of them was full of Swedes. Dead, dying, crying for their brothers not to leave them behind. But the Swedes had fled back into the fog.

Some musketeers jumped from the trenches to finish the enemies off. They grabbed their weapons and bandoliers with the powder flasks and bullet pouches, their belts and searched their pockets for money as well.

“We can’t stay here in the open field with the wounded.” Father Michael cast a worried glance around, then pointed at the miller’s house. “Carry the men to that house.”

Carrying someone turned out to be near impossible while his own left arm was almost useless. Benjamin managed to support a musketeer who was able to walk but dizzy due to a shot through his shoulder. He lowered the man in the yard next to the entryway where a few empty sacks lay.

The officer in command of the house stumped into the yard and shouted at the clergymen: “That’s the last thing my men need to see now!”

“Fine! But who will see to _their_ wounds when necessary?” Father Michael barked back, his fists on his hips.

“Pray that it doesn’t come to that,” the officer grumbled and returned to the house.

Father Michael administered last rites or applied makeshift bandages, made of shirt strips. Benjamin helped as well as he could. The sight of blood, however, made him dizzy and sick. ‘Never look straight at the wound!’ the hospital brothers in Mainz had taught him.

 _Great!_ There he had been expected to assist, now he was expected to work by oneself!

So he made it his business to hold the men while Father Michael knotted cloths around shot-through limbs. He prayed with the dying – or for them when they screamed for their wives or their mothers and didn’t keep their mind on the Lord. He didn’t fight back when some half-crazed old soldier who had carried a young musketeer to the yard grabbed Benjamin’s shoulders and shook him, yelling: “Where are those damned train menials to carry the wounded to the surgeons!”

Father Michael silenced the man with a blow in his face. The soldier let go of Benjamin. “The train hands have to make up for cavalry today!” Father Michael shouted at the soldier. “Go back to your men! Do your duty!”

The man swayed like an ox only dazed by the butcher’s axe. “It’s my boy!” he said, pointing at the young man, who lay on his side, knees pulled up and sobbing with pain, his hands pressed onto the shot-through armour.

“We’ll care for him!” Father Michael growled. “Go back into your line!”

His eyes wide and his split lip bleeding, the man stumbled backwards from the yard and bumped into comrades who carried more wounded infantry men inside. Benjamin knelt next to the musketeer. Two shots had gone through the breast plate. Together the Jesuits opened the armour to look at the wound. Under the iron the jackets were soaked with blood. The bullets had hit the young man in the stomach.

Benjamin stared up at Father Michael. The priest shook his head in a minute gesture. “Pray with me, son,” he implored the wounded. The boy started to weep, stammered his confession.

Benjamin turned away, almost weeping himself. With hate. These God-damned heretic bastards! He knew the Swedish infantry was said to be ‘good’. But good meant that they were drilled to march up close to the enemy’s lines, and march on and on like a flood, even if the bullets cut their rows down, and only then, twenty paces or less in front of the enemy they would give joint fire: so close that any armour broke.

He cast a glance around. There were about fifty men here already, and more were carried inside. “Father, what if we take the surgeons here if we have no means of transport?”

Father Michael nodded. “Go, and tell them I gave them order to come here. But take care of yourself and don’t dawdle!”

Benjamin nodded. This was too desperate a situation to dawdle. If he thought about it, seeing so many good Catholic soldiers suffer just through heretic insurgence he wanted to kick a certain Swedish captain in the face rather than dragging him from under his fallen horse.

“The Lord be with you, Benjamin.” Father Michael made the sign of the cross.

“And with you, Father.” Benjamin sketched a bow and hurried from the yard. He would run from here back to the emplacement, and from there behind the lines of the Imperial cavalry to the train. He just hoped that Father Michael’s word was significant enough to make the hospital brothers go to the first line of the battle.

From the house, the musketeers started to shoot again.

“Fire! Fire!” The officers’ voices boomed from the trenches. “Wipe the bastards off the field!”

Benjamin cast a glance over his shoulder. A wall of Swedish musketeers emerged from the fog. Under the green flag again.

The artillery fired grapeshots. The Imperial musketeers shot and loaded as fast as they could, obscuring the fields in front of their trenches with white fog. But a fog that spat back lead balls. Benjamin gathered up his cassock and ran.

Wheezing he made it to back wall of the artillery emplacement. The Swedish cavalry was back as well, again attacking the Imperial cuirassiers full force. This time, the Emperor’s lines stood their ground, perhaps thanks to the dark General who raced with his staff from brigade to brigade.

Benjamin squinted in the fog. Don’t dawdle. From the emplacement ran men with wooden stretchers.

“Hey!” Benjamin hurried to the artillery menials. “Brothers, for the sake of Christ, please carry some injured soldiers to the surgeons!”

“Ain’t got time to play good Samaritan now!” a man huffed. “Got to get more powder!”

But at least he had company with the same destination now. Benjamin ran with the artillery men. Twice they found themselves surrounded by riders. The second time, a team of powder carriers were run over by a panicking horse. One man got up, the other one screamed, clutching his twisted leg. Now the others were willing to carry at least one injured man.

When they made it to the train, they ran into a chaos of half-harnessed horses and menials who looted their own baggage. Of course the redcoats were around, loading their silver-buckled horses with everything that wasn’t nailed down.

“What is this about!” Benjamin shouted at a carter who climbed onto his horse.

“The Swedes are close behind! Run for your lives!” the man shouted back. Benjamin cast a glance at the left wing of the Imperial lines. Things were even worse here than back behind the mills. The General’s ruse had failed: his fake cavalry had run, and the Swedes were already halfway between the road and the train, hampered only by a few cuirassiers.

“Most Sacred Heart of Jesus, have mercy on us!” Benjamin stared at the mess. How could this be? How could the Lord always favour the heretics? _Lord, you’re right to punish us for our sins, but why don’t you punish the heretics as well?!_

“Where are the surgeons?” the artillery man next to him called, but the carter was already beating his horses into action. The wagon had sunk deep into the swampy ground. Swearing and cursing, some women gripped the wheels to push the wagon into gear while another one wielded an axe to keep a redcoat at bay who tried to cut a cask off the wagon with his saber.

“Over there!” One of the artillery men nudged Benjamin in the ribs and pointed at a tent where a horse boy led his wounded master to.

The Lord was with them. When they entered the tent, Benjamin knew he had met the right surgeons: not company quacks, but his own brethren.

But his plea for help was answered with an enraged retort. “What does Father Michael think we’re doing, huh?” The surgeon in charge threatened Benjamin with a bloody forceps. “The damned train are running like hares, most company surgeons are already off to Leipzig, I can’t spare a single bloody hand here!” He glared at Benjamin. “Speaking of hands, you can assist while you’re here!”

“But I have to go back...” Benjamin stared in horror at the teams of surgeons and their screaming patients. The Spanish priest turned right next to him.

“That’s an order, you dork!” he snapped, before he turned, granting absolution to a writhing man whose rich brocade trousers were drenched in blood and piss.

 _Lord, help me!_ Benjamin grabbed the rider’s left arm and pressed it down to the arm rest of the chair. He averted his eyes. The surgeon’s servant cut off the boot and exposed a blood-soiled hose and then a shot wound where the bones stuck out of the flesh. Seeing the surgeon arrive from the next chair with a dish full of bloody water, knives and saws, Benjamin’s sight closed into a grey hole, and noon became midnight.

 

***

 

“Wake up, damn you!” A wet rug slapped his face. Benjamin dared open his eyes. Thank the Lord he was outside the tent! The Spaniard crouched in front of him, holding a wet cloth and a cup. “Haven’t you learnt anything during your hospital service, boy?” he asked with a reproachful look.

“There wasn’t so much blood,” Benjamin moaned and sat up. Looking around, he found himself surrounded by wounded riders and their horse boys and wives in front of the surgeons’ tents.

The Spaniard cleared his throat.

“When I did my hospital duty, there were patients with pox or other diseases, some cases of plague even. But no battle,” Benjamin tried to explain, ashamed of himself and his rambling. “And when the brothers showed me how to put a broken leg or arm into splints...” He forced bile down his throat, “...these limbs were not so bloody.”

The priest nodded, frowning thunderously and pressing a cup of brandy into Benjamin’s hand. “Drink that!”

Benjamin obeyed. How he hated that biting stuff! He waited for another homily about the faint-hearted Jesuits of the Empire, but suddenly the priest sat up. The thunder of hooves, of thousands of horses grew near, made the ground tremble. A few heartbeats later, they appeared from the fog: black cuirassiers with black plumes and red sashes.

“Pappenheim!” the horse boys started to cheer, “Pappenheim’s riders!”

Without even asking for orders, the regiments joined the battle on the left wing and drove the Swedish riders back.

One company, however, cordoned off the train. “Stay behind!”

The only ones who were able to take to their heels were the redcoats on their swift beasts. Cursing, the carters climbed from their draught horses.

“Lord, bless Pappenheim and his cuirassiers!” the Spaniard sighed. He rose. “Stay where you are, boy. I’ll provide you with some bandages at least.”

“Thank you, Father!” Benjamin smiled with relief. The Lord had sent the riders just in time. All would be well. And he wouldn’t return empty-handed. He forced down the rest of the brandy. If he weren’t so dead tired! He knew he should get to his feet, now, the wet soil already drenched his trousers, but all he wanted was sleep.

‘You could lie in a warm, dry bed now,’ the devil nagged.

 _Too late._ Benjamin moaned and hugged himself. The brandy lit embers in his stomach, but a chill ran down his spine and made him shiver. Hearing the groans and whimpering of the wounded mixed with prayers and invocations of the saints – and the devil as well –, he suddenly knew what limbo would sound like. He closed his eyes. Pappenheim was there, all would be well ...

“Father, please come here!” Suddenly, a woman tugged at his sleeve.

 _Please, leave me alone!_ Benjamin thought. _Please, just let me sit here and sleep!_

But the woman was insistent. “Please! Come on! He’s dying!”

Benjamin looked up in a dirty face of a young woman clad in rags. But obviously he had strained her patience already. She kicked his shin and yelled. “Will you come now! What are you clerics good for if you don’t bless the dying!”

 _Yes, what am I good for?_ With a groan, Benjamin rose to his feet. _What am I good for? No fighter, not able to assist the surgeons, no priest yet ..._

“Please, hurry!”

With a knot of fear in his stomach, Benjamin knelt next to the rider. The man was unconscious already. No need to explain to the woman then that he was only a deacon, that he couldn’t absolve the man of his sins.

But pray for him he could. Casting a glance at the woman in rags and her much better clad rider, Benjamin wondered if she was just a servant or if he was her husband, and deserving of her concern. She looked up from stroking the man’s forehead. Benjamin hurried to cast down his eyes.

To Benjamin’s great relief, soon the Spaniard crouched down next to him. He pointed at a bag and a cask he had brought. “Go,” he said gently to Benjamin and made the sign of the cross.

The bag contained bandages and cloth, and the cask smelled of brandy. Benjamin slung the bag over his left shoulder and took the cask under his right arm. “The Lord be with you,” he said to the priest, but it was the woman, who looked up to him. Benjamin ran away from the distress on her face.

 

***

 

Drinking the cup of brandy had been a bad idea. Benjamin felt weak and sluggish, and the mile back to the frontline looked three times as far. He looked out for the gunpowder carriers from the artillery, but they had long gone. As if to prove their return, the next salvo was fired from the emplacement. Benjamin sighed. Why didn’t the blasted heretics get tired of this?

But, misled by the devil, they didn’t: at his right their cavalry charged again. With fewer flags, however. Faintly, Benjamin wondered what had become of von Innow in the meantime. But he was too tired to worry for him or be tempted to risk a look. Getting back to Father Michael was all that mattered now.

It was a long way to the miller’s house, and the little cask seemed possessed by one of the sit-up demons the people in Hessia had warned him about: in the shape of a weasel or squirrel they would jump onto a sinner’s shoulder and get heavier and heavier with every step he took.

Shuffling on, Benjamin cast a glance at the sun. It was a spot only marginally whiter than fog and gun powder smoke. It seemed to be past noon.

A single horse thundered in his direction, and he was almost run over by a dispatch rider who waved at the Generalissimus and his staff. He seemed to carry good news.

Benjamin made it safely back to the emplacement, from which the menials ran again for more gun powder. “Keep cover, Father,” one shouted at Benjamin. The next Swedish salvo hit, some cannon balls flew wide across the fortification as if the hostile gunners were aiming at the Imperial cavalry now.

It was only a few hundred yards to the miller’s house. Along his way, Benjamin saw the backs of the last line of Imperial musketeers, vanishing in the clouds of smoke. All the time he had been away, neither the Swedes nor his own troops had gained any ground.

_Lord, why are you so angry with us that you don’t give us the victory we deserve! All these brave men are fighting for you, but you let the Swedes go on in their wicked ways!_

But obviously the Lord wanted to punish him for his whining. Another salvo rang out in the fog, and suddenly a hit made Benjamin stumble. Recovering his balance, he found his side wet. He scarcely dared to look, but his fingers were covered in a clear liquid – and stank of schnaps.

A musket ball had cut across his coat and hit the brandy cask.

“Lord!” Benjamin gasped. Pressing his hands onto the holes in the wood, he rushed to the miller’s house. “I meant no offence! I meant no offence!”

 

***

 

“Benjamin! You made it back!” Father Michael hugged him.

“I brought bandages!” Benjamin said trough clattering teeth, “And brandy. But with holes!” He felt at the verge of hysterical laughter – or screaming.

“That’s good!” Father Michael took the cask, and immediately it was under siege by the soldiers who still could walk. Enough men carried pewter or wooden cups on their belts, and they made sure that no more brandy was wasted.

“No surgeons?” Father Michael asked. He looked utterly exhausted.

Benjamin shook his head and handed him the bag. “They’re busy with the cavalry...”

Father Michael sighed and his shoulders sagged. “Any news from Pappenheim?” he asked with not much hope.

“Why, yes!” Benjamin said, surprised that the good news hadn’t made its way here. “They arrived when I was with the train, and they joined the battle on the left wing. They fought the Swedes back a good deal!”

Father Michael’s face lit up. “That’s great news!” He turned to the men and called over the yard. “Did you hear that? Pappenheim is here! He has joined the battle! All is well on the left wing!” He nudged Benjamin and pointed to the miller’s house:

“Go and tell the musketeers! It will encourage them!”

 _All I want is to hide in a corner and sleep..._ But Benjamin trotted to the stone building with its two storeys. Inside it smelled of sulphur and nitre like the deepest pits of hell. The musketeers were black in the faces from the smoke their weapons blew. They acknowlegded the good news with a grim nod between loading and shooting. Only one turned to look Benjamin in the face and asked: “Do you have some water, boy, or any bread?”

No. Benjamin shook his head. But soon he was back, carrying cups of brandy.

He had made this way eight times when the shooting ebbed. Again and again the Swedes had attacked, but this time, they didn’t come back.

Warily, the musketeers glanced out off the windows and through the loopholes they had cut into the walls: the attacks had stopped.

Their weapons loaded and the fuses alight, the men dared to relax a little. Some searched their bags for food or shared a water flask with a comrade.

Benjamin used the opportunity to look out of a window himself. The ground was covered with dead bodies. Some time even the cavalry had tried to attack over the trench, but had their horses skewered by the pikemen.

Again, musketeers left the trenches to try their luck with looting the dead and the wounded.

Other men pushed the dead out of their trenches. Benjamin didn’t dare count the bodies, but he was sure that several companies lay dead outside.

Again he glanced at the sun. It had made half its way from noon to the horizon. _About third hour. Only two hours to sunset. Lord, please let it be over now. Let the Swedes disappear into the fog and back to Naumburg like dogs with their tails between their legs._

When Benjamin returned to the yard, a rider made his way through the rows of injured men. He called the musketeer officer, and then he shouted for everybody to hear: “The king of the Swedes is dead! Keep courage, brothers, the battle will be over soon!”

Now the men cheered.

“Thanks be to God!” Benjamin sighed and dropped next to Father Michael.

“Thanks be to God, indeed!” the priest said with relief. “But we're not finished yet.” He pointed at the now empty bag of bandages. “Can you get more?”

Benjamin couldn’t hide his distress. But of course he would go. _Just a little moment of rest._

Benjamin looked up when the rider stopped his horse next to them. He bent down from his saddle. “Please, come with me, Father,” he addressed Father Michael in a silent voice. “We need a priest over there.” It sounded urgent. As if one of the most high-ranking Imperial officers had been deadly wounded.

Father Michael nodded and shouldered the bag for the bandages. “Take over here, Benjamin,” he said, squeezing the younger man’s shoulder. “I’ll be back soon.”

Benjamin nodded. “The Lord be with you, Father,” he said, but he wanted to scream: _Don’t leave me alone!_

But he was left behind with blood and guts and broken bones and men who begged for absolution. “I can’t, I’m just a deacon!” Benjamin said again and again. “Please, hold out until Father Michael is back!”

But most didn’t. From outside the walls of the yard, from the other side of the trenches, he heard the devils roar again:

“GOD WITH US!”

And the shooting started again.

“So much for the news their king is dead,” a pikeman sighed with a shiver. Benjamin fastened the end of the bandage around the man’s shoulder.

So much for the good news. So much for hope. He fell into a numb routine of praying and tending to each wounded who was carried inside. Somehow the sight of blood didn’t make him faint any more. Twice he retched so hard that he vomited, but he held on, drank schnaps, applied bandages out of any cloth he could get, and he prayed to the Lord to return Father Michael to him soon.

But the Lord didn’t care for his pleas. The shooting and shouting outside the yard seemed even worse that it had been the whole day before. The musketeers from the house had to fire at more and more acute angles, and suddenly a detachment of infantry men stormed into the yard, shouting “GOD WITH US!”

Benjamin froze with horror. But the Swedes were shot on their way into the house or killed in close combat inside. The musketeers made sure that none of the foes of God escaped. And then, Benjamin had to care for some musketeers whom he had brought brandy two hours ago.

At nightfall the shooting ebbed. But this time almost no wounded were carried inside. The few who came told him of a fight down to the knife and bare hands with fresh forces from the Swedish reserve line. With the help of the Lord, they had fended off the Swedes. But that was all they had achieved this day.

When the snipers left the house, because it was too dark to continue the battle, Benjamin lay on his knees, cursing himself, for again he had failed to stop a bleeding in time and had denied a dying man his wish for absolution. But what would a fake ‘ego te absolvo’ be good for? Make their death easier? Their dying perhaps. But still, he didn't have the apostolic consecration: the dying soldier would burn in limbo anyway, and he himself would burn in hell forever with the heretics for presuming to grant this sacrament.

“Forgive me,” Benjamin whispered at the dead man in front of him. “If I hadn't chosen to become a Jesuit of all priests, but a parish priest or one in another order, I could have the ordinations already. I’m so sorry.”

When he heard the soldiers march off, however, he stirred and pulled himself up. “Sir!” he addressed their officer. “Please take these men with you back to the train and the surgeons!”

The officer frowned at him and growled. “Do we look like train menials? We've had no food or drink the whole blasted day! I’m glad if they still can carry the muskets!”

“I brought you brandy!” Benjamin insisted. “Please take at least the men who are able to walk and need just a little support.”

With a growl the officer nodded. But it was only five men Benjamin could send back to the train. The soldiers would assemble there for food and rest. _And leave us behind here,_ Benjamin thought with terror. _Unarmed and not cared for in the least!_ “Please send us carts for transport!” he called after the officer, who hurried away before more tasks were piled upon him.

A musketeer handed Benjamin a glowing fuse: “You'd better set up a fire, before you all freeze to death.”

“Thank you.” Dazed, Benjamin stared at the slowly burning cord in his hand. Did it mean they already knew that no-one would dare cross the battlefield at night to take home their injured comrades?

His head hung, he went into the house and collected boards. In the former kitchen he even found a box with pine spills. Delighted about this treasure, he hurried back to the door – and froze. Riders had arrived. But riders who had no other aim than to rob the helpless men on the ground.

“Stop it!” Benjamin yelled before thinking. He ran into the yard. Two riders had stayed in the saddle, left it to their men to murder his charges and search their pockets.

The mounted men turned at him, pistols at the ready. “Look what we’ve got there: a Popish priest...”

If they called him Popish, they had to be Swedes. Benjamin staked everything on one chance – probably his last: “Stop looting at once! One of your officers has already granted us quarter!“

“Don’t make me laugh!” the first rider exclaimed and spurred his horse on. “And who would that have been? The King of Sweden perhaps?”

For a moment, Benjamin wondered if he should name Duke Bernhard because his riders had charged here all day long. But in case such a high-ranking man had been killed his soldiers would know. For a split second the rider’s voice reminded him of someone, but he couldn’t place it. It was not von Innow, that was certain. Perhaps his stern friend, the other captain who didn’t want to feed his duke’s horses?

“It was a Captain von Innow!” Benjamin called, before the rider closed in.

“Von Innow, really...”

“I swear!” The pistol on his chest and the brick wall against his back, Benjamin prayed to the Lord to have mercy with him.

“Well, that bastard seems to have taken a real liking in you Papists!” the rider sneered, and from that tone Benjamin realized who his opponent was: Major von Hassfurt, of all people! The one who had given orders to send Benjamin to the executioner only three days ago.

The major squinted at him, growling under his breath, and Benjamin wondered if the man recognized him.

“Bind him!” the major ordered then, gesturing with his pistol at his soldiers and back at Benjamin. “Bind him. And wipe out the rest of that bunch!”

“No, Sir! NO!” Benjamin dropped onto his knees. “Have mercy on them! For Christ’s sake, don’t make the blood of defenceless people come upon your soul!”

“Remember Magdeburg!” A blow to his head was the reward for his begging, and two soldiers wrestled Benjamin down to bind him. Benjamin screamed, for the Lord, for mercy, but soon he was dragged to his feet, bound and tethered to the major’s saddle, and had to witness the massacre in the yard.

When his men loaded their prey of clothes, weapons and gear onto their horses and mounted their beasts, von Hassfurt said, “Back to our line then. And find me von Innow, in case he’s still alive.”

# Chapter 14

“Stop snivelling, cleric, or I’ll cut off your ears to give you something to whine about!” Major von Hassfurt kicked Benjamin in the back.

Benjamin tried to control his breathing, to weep in silence. Outside the yard, over there, where a regiment of musketeers had stood behind the trenches and had helped to stop the mad Swedish attacks throughout the afternoon, dark lumps lay side by side on the ground, every one of them a dead man.

Lützen had stopped burning a while ago, and the only light were campfires from the distance where the train stood. They made the darkness close in and reflected pale red on musket barrels and breastplates and in the wide eyes of the dead.

“For the love of God, brothers, help me!” a man moaned in the dark, but Benjamin prayed that the major’s bunch of murderers wouldn’t search for the wounded.

But the riders were distracted the very next moment: shadows moved in the dark, and suddenly fuses lit up in the night. From the way they moved, it was clear that a detachment of musketeers hurried to put their guns onto the forks.

Von Hassfurt’s riders produced pistols and rapiers.

“God with us!” the musketeers called out.

“God with us! Gadhoff, is that you?” the major answered.

“The Captain’s dead! I’m Lieutenant Franzen.” A young infantry officer with his halberd came into sight. “All clear?”

“Yes.” Von Hassfurt nodded. “We cleaned up at the mills.”

 _Cleaned up?_ Benjamin thought. _May you burn in eternity for murdering helpless men!_

Lieutenant Franzen summoned his soldiers to follow, and both detachments crossed the trench and returned to the Swedish side of the battlefield.

Benjamin couldn’t believe it. The Swedes had taken the cannons as well! They must have overrun the emplacement late in the afternoon, but inside the walls of the mill house's yard Benjamin hadn’t noticed why the cannons had stopped firing. He hung his head with a moan.

Walking alongside the major’s horse, the infantry officer watched Benjamin with curiosity. “You took a priest prisoner? Was there no-one of rank to get?”

Von Hassfurt answered with a derisive snort. “One of my captains seems to make a habit of saving papists! That cleric claims Innow granted them quarter. Let’s see how that Mecklenburgian bigmouth will explain this folly!"

Franzen commented the last statement with a snort.

"First that printer boy in his bed, now granting them quarter..." the major went on. "Hell, and next year we'll see Innow fight for Wallenstein!"

“But at least he can’t rob us at cards then!” Lieutenant Franzen sounded pleased at the prospect.

“If that’s your only concern,” von Hassfurt hissed. He spurred on his horse.

Benjamin had to trot along the animal. He ducked his head and thanked the Lord that the major hadn't recognized him in the darkness.

Now he had to hope for a certain bigmouth’s negotiating talent.

The cavalry men rode along the trench, past the Imperial artillery emplacement, drawn to the centre of the battlefield until the horses couldn’t walk anymore because there was no place left to step on between the bodies.

“God, that’s the Blue Brigade and the Yellow,” one of von Hassfurt’s riders groaned, almost sobbing. “God help us if the Imperials return!”

The major answered with a grunt and turned his horse. They passed infantry men who carried wounded men or searched their fallen comrades, gave wounded horses the coup de grace, and many wounded men too. Still, the riders helped a few of their own injured who were able to ride or limp along a horse, clinging to the horse tack. Slowly the small detachment moved towards the line-up of the Swedes.

Out of gunshot range, exhausted men huddled close to meagre campfires, but no wagons were to be seen. The screams and moans of the wounded were the only sound; anybody else seemed too exhausted for words.

Von Hassfurt stopped near a fire next to a ragged blue cornet. “Where are your officers?”

“All dead, Sir,” was the weary answer. Other men looked up, their voices dead tired. “Where’s the train gone?”, “Is there any food?”, “We need a surgeon, Sir.”, “How’s the king?”

How’s the king?

For a moment, Benjamin woke from his horrified stupor. So King Gustavus Adolphus wasn’t dead as the rider had reported this afternoon?

He closed his eyes. Of course, the king wasn’t dead. Otherwise the Swedes wouldn’t have attacked with such vigour again, would they? No. They would have run instead of coming back for revenge and to show their monarch how tough they could fight, and their German allies would have fled certainly.

“His Majesty is wounded, and that’s all that I know.” Von Hassfurt dismounted with a groan.

“Go and find Duke Bernhard,” he told one of his riders. The others were allowed to rest. They dropped their saddles, blankets and the looted coats on the ground and budged up closer at the fire. Benjamin was shoved to the edge of their circle and was bound in a kneeling position. This would hurt soon, but protest would only make the soldier tie the rope tighter. All Benjamin wanted was to sleep. To sleep and to never wake up again.

 

***

 

“Ah, there is our protector of Imperials and clerics!” Major von Hassfurt rose from his place by the fire. “Over here, Innow!”

Drowsily, Benjamin looked up. As much as he had yearned for it, sleep had fled him. He had dozed off a few times, but the pain from his strained arms was too bad, the ground too cold and wet. He shivered, but not because of the tall man who slowly rode into the firelight. Benjamin felt too miserable to feel much fear.

Captain von Innow sat on a grey charger that probably had once been the pride and joy of an Imperial colonel or even of a general. But now the horse came to a stumbling halt and hung its head with a weary whuff. The captain himself looked even wearier than his mount. He had lost his hat, and on the right side of his face, his jaw was dark with caked blood as was his collar. He sat slumped on the horse, one arm pressed against his stomach.

He greeted his major with a nod. “Is there news about the king, Sir?”

“The king is wounded!” von Hassfurt stated in a stern voice. “What do I know! Where’s your cornet?”

“Gone. Both, man and flag,” was the quiet answer. “I’m sorry for your nephew, Sir. He did fight bravely.”

“But lost the flag.” The contempt in the major’s voice made Benjamin pity the young cornet. _If you were concerned for him in the slightest, why didn’t you take him in your own company!_ The major’s company still had their cornets: man and flag.

“A flag can be replaced, Sir.” Von Innow frowned at his superior.

“And a company who lost their flag can be dissolved!” the major said with an edge as if he couldn’t wait to get rid of the captain and reinforce his own sad bunch with the few men who had stopped behind von Innow. To Benjamin, there seemed to be more than just a quarrel about a black horse lost and won in a game of cards that had alienated the two officers.

The captain’s frown was as thunderous as his voice when he replied. “Sir! Unlike you, we charged fifteen times this day, and these eight men are the only ones who are left sound in my company! There is no reason to treat us with contempt or deal threats now!”

“No reason?” the major stated with a snarl. “Did you grant quarter to an Imperial casualty collecting point at the mills?”

“Huh? No, I didn’t.”

“Well, well...” Von Hassfurt turned to Benjamin and gestured at his men to bring the prisoner. The campfire’s light on the officer’s features made Benjamin think of a delighted devil. “But that cleric knew your name! But wait. God strike me with lightning ... Isn’t that the same one as in your tent?”

A soldier untied the rope and pulled Benjamin to his feet. By the collar of the prisoner’s cassock, he dragged Benjamin to the fire.

Benjamin hung his head, couldn’t look von Innow in the eye, but the soldier grabbed Benjamin’s hair and forced the prisoner’s head up.

The captain gaped at him in disbelief.

“But how the hell...”

“So that _is_ your bed-fellow, isn’t he?” the major scoffed. “That so-called printer's apprentice! Turned out to be a popish cleric. Hah!”

Von Innow drew a deep breath, but suddenly ground his teeth and hissed with pain instead of huffing the air out the way Benjamin knew.

“You’re wounded?” von Hassfurt asked without sympathy.

The captain nodded. “Probably. Took two shots through the cuirass.”

“Anyway,” the major said. “You did set this papist scoundrel free?”

“Of course not!” Von Innow stared furiously at the major. Then he looked at Benjamin, contempt written across his features. “I left him in the camp on terms of his word of honour.”

“You accepted the word of honour of a Catholic?” Von Hassfurt’s voice became snide.

“As does everybody when negotiating ransom with them,” the captain said with a growl. “But I was probably overly optimistic.”

“Do you want me to believe this one just ran and could overtake our army?” The major shoved Benjamin forward to von Innow. “Perhaps he flew? But that must certainly have been sorcery!”

“No!” Benjamin turned to the major. Seeing the captain’s wrath was bad enough, but the last thing he needed piled onto his bad luck was the accusation of witchcraft. “I left the camp with the sutlers, got a horse and rode to Rippach where I met ... my army.”

“Got a horse? Sure, of course our sutlers gave you a horse for free!” the major sneered. “Or are you a horse thief on top of that?”

“No!” Benjamin wished to beat von Hassfurt in the face, but all he could do was to clench his bound hands.

“Now, how did you get that horse?” The officer asked, cocking his head.

Benjamin swallowed. _Lord, help me!_ But whatever he would say he was doomed anyway. “I took a book,” he admitted, looking at the former owner of the gospel. “Captain von Innow has books, looted from a Bavarian monastery. I bartered one of them for a horse at the sutlers.”

He hung his head, couldn’t bear von Innow’s gaze.

The major snorted, amused. “That must have been quite a big book, scarce as good horses are these times.”

“It wasn’t such a good horse,” Benjamin ground out. _Lord, give me a sword, and I’ll kill that bastard!_

“Which book did you take?” von Innow asked in a low voice. “The one from my trunk?”

Benjamin nodded and dared a glance upwards.

“I should have known...” The captain shook his head, disgusted.

“May I know what you two are talking about?” the major chimed in.

“A gospel with gold-plated covers,” the captain replied.

The major whistled through his teeth. “And he sold that for a ‘not so good horse’!” He laughed out loud. “Really, Innow, you must have been quite enamoured of this fellow to let him run free among your spoils!”

“I trusted a man’s word, that’s all!” the captain growled, carefully pushing himself up in the saddle. He didn’t say ‘and I was disappointed’, but for Benjamin these words rang loudly through the silence.

“And I trust that you want to punish that man accordingly,” the major said, making even the word ‘accordingly’ sound lewd. “Of course he’s my prisoner now. But perhaps you want to exchange him? Say, for the horse you’re riding?”

“Why,” von Innow hissed in a deadly cold voice, “why would I want to exchange a perfectly good horse for a bastard who broke his word?”

“Then I understand that you have no more interest in him?” Von Hassfurt produced his rapier.

Benjamin stared at the blade, then at the captain, but the captain took up the reins.

“No, I don’t,” he said, kicking his horse to get its attention. “If you would excuse me now, Sir, I’d rather take care of my men.”

“Captain!” Benjamin screamed when he felt the rapier’s point pressing through his cassock.

But Captain von Innow turned his horse and rode away.

“No! Captain, please...” _Don’t leave me at the mercy of this devil!_

Benjamin stared after the officer. His soldiers let him pass, turned their mounts as well. They led a few hacks by the reins, light horses with silver-plated tack like the redcoats rode.

Benjamin squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his hands to his mouth. No, he would not beg any more. Not in front of that major! “Lord take me, have mercy on me, a sinner, and a thief ...”

A hard slap against his head startled him from praying.

Clearly dissatisfied, Major von Hassfurt glared from Benjamin at the retreating von Innow and back. Seeing the fury in the man’s mien, Benjamin was sure that he would be stabbed the very next moment. But he would not beg. He would not!

But the major reconsidered. “Hey, you!” With his rapier, the officer pointed at one of his own soldiers.

“Sir?” the man stood with tired groan.

“Take that popish git over to Innow’s place. Tell the captain that the boy is a gift. For his bravery in today’s battle.” He sheathed his rapier. “What are you waiting for, man!”

The soldier took the rope that bound Benjamin’s hands, obviously pitying himself to be roused from his rest. In surprise, Benjamin stared at the officer.

“You don’t need to thank me,” the major said with a nasty grin. “For one like you a rapier through the ribs would be too much of a mercy. Let’s hope the good Captain knows his duty.” He gestured at his throat in a way everybody did when talking about hanging.

Benjamin turned his face away. He did not have to see the major’s evil anticipation. The soldier pulled at the rope and Benjamin hurried to follow.

 _Thank you, Lord! Thank you, but help me!_ Benjamin dreaded what the captain would say when he learnt about this ‘gift’.

 

***

 

Seeing the Jesuit apprentice again, Captain von Innow pulled a face as if von Hassfurt’s soldier had brought him a rotting corpse from the gallows.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he barked at the soldier.

The soldier shrugged and dropped the rope. “I have orders to deliver him, as a gift for your bravery in battle, and that’s all, Sir,” he said in a cranky voice. “Don’t make me take him back to the major, or I’ll drag that bastard back and forth all night long.”

Von Innow’s riders snorted. They had dismounted and were busy unloading their horses and taking the saddles off.

The grey-bearded sergeant stood next to his captain. “Take that boy,” he suggested in a low voice. “Perhaps we’ll be glad for someone to barter for captive comrades.”

“As if there were any prisoners taken today!” von Innow snarled. Looking at von Hassfurt’s soldier and fighting hard for a more civil voice, he said, “Tell the major I’m not grateful for his ‘gift’, but I wouldn’t bother _you_ with him.”

“Thank you, Sir!” Satisfied, the soldier returned to his campfire.

Benjamin faced the captain’s glare with a wide-eyed plea for forgiveness.

“Thank you,” he said in a small voice, but he wasn’t welcome at all.

Von Innow backhanded him across the face so hard that Benjamin stumbled and fell.

For a moment, Benjamin lay numb with shock. Then he curled up and cried. With pain and hate. Hate of himself and of that cruel heretic bastard. Yet at the same time he felt that the heretic bastard was right to beat him. And that hurt even more than the burning cheek and the ringing head. Father Michael might tell him again and again that he didn't have to keep his word of honour to a heretic, but deep inside Benjamin felt that this was wrong. Von Innow had been right when he said there had to be a means to keep the world together: a man’s word of honour.

Though he had given his word implicitly, he had agreed not to run, Benjamin couldn’t deny that. He had made good use of the food and shelter the heretic had provided in his quirked ways, and then he had sneaked away, stealing from the same man, who had offered him a form of captivity high above his station. He had run, and all he had achieved was to be raped, wounded, shot at and dragged away while the wounded he had to care for were slain. He couldn’t bear it any more.

_Why do you do this to me, Lord? Why! All I wanted was to serve you! All I wanted was to warn your army!_

A boot poked his thigh and startled him from crying. “Get up!” the sergeant growled, his saddle in his hands. “Over there to the fire!”

Benjamin went with him, shivering with cold and misery.

As it turned out, the men von Innow had joined were the rest of Captain Winter’s company and another company who had lost all their officers. Together, they came up to thirty people, the wounded included. Captain Winter clutched his right arm, and his sash had been turned into a make-shift bandage and sling with dark stains.

“Where’s the damned train? The surgeons?” he rasped.

“At Weissenfels,” von Innow said, lowering himself carefully onto a pad made from saddle blankets and looted capes. “They refuse to come back because there are still redcoats around. We’ve got a few,” he pointed at the horses with the silver tack, “but that won’t make the carters travel at night.”

Winter hung his head. “Do you know more about the king?”

“No.” Von Innow shook his head. “Let’s hope he’s safe.”

He started to pick at the buckles of his cuirass. “Damn, somebody help me with these. Has anybody seen Karl?”

The soldiers shook their heads. It was the sergeant who freed his captain from the armour and pushed the officer back to rest against a saddle. “Careful, Sir.”

He put the armour right in front of Benjamin. There were two holes in the breastplate, one with the diameter of a little finger, caused by a pistol shot. The bigger one from a musket ball had the diameter of a man’s thumb. Benjamin watched for blood, but there was none gleaming on the perforated buffcoat. On the captain’s black jackets he couldn’t recognize anything. The captain groaned out loud when the sergeant laid a hand onto his stomach while fumbling with the buttons.

“Hell, I can undress myself!” But von Innow’s hands trembled when he did so.

The captain stripped down to the shirt. Finally, there was no hole in the shirt’s fabric and no blood to be seen. It wasn’t von Innow alone who sighed with relief.

The sergeant poked around in the discarded doublet. “Hah! What have we got here!”

“Look at that!” he called out triumphantly and showed the soldiers a musket ball he had picked out of the lining.

The men cheered.

“Now, anyone who doubts that our captain is a frozen one?”

Von Innow grinned with relief. “Frozen? Then why do I feel as if a horse had kicked me in the stomach?”

“Stop whining. I gladly exchange my broken arm for your kicked stomach!” Captain Winter groaned.

Von Innow dressed. Benjamin watched the white shirt vanish under the doublet and the doublet under jackets.

I should have known! he thought in horror. A frozen one: a man who was bullet-proof! There was no doubt: von Innow must be in league with the devil.

Of course almost all soldiers had a letter with a prayer sewn into the lining of their jackets to make them bullet-proof. Providing a nuisance for the servers and deacons, the Catholic soldiers would try to slip their letters under the altar cover, because the letters were said to be especially powerful when three Masses had been said over them. And there were also soldiers who had devoted themselves to black magic.

But what would the heretics write on their letters? Their false and useless prayers? Or more certainly direct invocations of the devil?

Benjamin shivered. It wasn’t his station to ask the Lord why he supported von Innow and his ilk. Of course God would do it just to punish his true followers for their sins and to test their faith, and not because he favoured the heretics, wouldn’t he?

Benjamin watched von Innow, who was now in his buffcoat again. He rubbed captain Winter’s back and talked encouragingly to his comrade.  Captain Winter suggested saying a prayer for the killed and the wounded.

Disgusted, Benjamin listened as the men said their extended version of the _Our Father_ in German. Even Captain von Innow looked serious, as if he really believed that God would protect him and welcome the souls of his fallen men to heaven.

Secretly, Benjamin crossed himself. How could the heretics be that stupid! Why didn’t they feel how futile their prayers were!

‘But you have to admit that the Lord allowed them to stand their ground,’ his own nagging devil remarked. ‘What if their prayers are as good as yours – or as futile?’

 _Shut up! For heaven's sake, shut up!_ Benjamin shivered in fever.

 

***

 

It was close before dawn when a kick woke him. Benjamin looked up with bleary eyes. The fire had burnt down to ashes, and the soldiers had already saddled their horses. There was a faint idea of grey on the eastern horizon.

It was so cold. So awfully, freezing cold ... Someone had thrown a blanket over him last night, but that was snatched away now by the sergeant. “Get up!” he said.

The breath froze in white clouds in the morning air, and there was no fog yet. Nevertheless, Benjamin felt as if he had been thrown into a freezing river. He recognized it for was it was: the beginnings of a bad fever.

Every bone in his body ached, and his throat was on fire. _Great,_ he thought, _there you'd thought you’ll become a hero, and then you’ll die miserably from disease._

“Come on, boy!” He was grabbed and pulled to his feet. Not out of courtesy, but because the sergeant wanted to put the old coat Benjamin had lain on onto his horse.

Benjamin looked for the captain. Von Innow saddled his horse, talking to Captain Winter who was already on his mount. “Take my wounded and return to Weissenfels, Winter. There’s no need for you to get run over in case things go awry.”

“But you might need our horses.”

“Damn, I don’t have one single horse boy to hold the reserve!” Von Innow cast a glance around. “I wish Karl were here...” He looked haggard and distressed.

For a moment, his eyes met Benjamin’s, but the captain looked away, frowning with disgust.

“On horseback, then!” he called out loud. “Check your pistols, gentlemen! We didn’t finish our task yesterday! Remember: as long as the damned Imperials are still in Saxony, there won’t be winter quarter for us. And isn’t that what we want right now? Some hot food, a warm, dry house and our wives? To get this, all you have to do right now is to finish off the Imperials! Make them run to Bohemia or straight to hell, I don’t care, but make them run! God with us!”

Benjamin was left behind with Captain Winter and some other wounded men when von Innow’s small detachment made their horses trot back to the front line. They rode under the ragged flag of Winter’s company.

“What are we going to do now, Sir?” a soldier asked Captain Winter. The officer ground his teeth.

“We’ll stay,” he decided. “When the battle starts our comrades will need our horses.”

The men hung their heads. If they gave their mounts away and the Imperials made it here then, they would all be slain.

The grey on the horizon was much brighter now. Dew started to fall, seeped into the clothes, and made the men shiver. All Benjamin could think about was the warm, dry house von Innow had promised. His thoughts strayed back to the home of his childhood. The big bed above the kitchen. The warmth from the chimney next to the bed. His mother, looking down at him with worry as she brought him a cup of hot milk, stirring the honey in it.

 

***

 

The sound of a galloping horse startled Benjamin from dozing off.

Von Innow returned in the first light of the morning sun.

“The god-damned sons of bitches are gone!” he shouted triumphantly. He laughed like a madman and pointed at the side of the battlefield were the Emperor’s army was supposed to be.

“Wallenstein sneaked away during the night, left even his cannon! It’s over, boys! We made it!”

# Chapter 15

“Captain, Sir! We’ve found him!” The rider called from a place close to the Lützen orchard wall.

Benjamin closed his eyes. _Lord, no!_ This meant riding another few hundred meters. He crouched on one of the prey horses, standing in the stirrups instead of sitting on the saddle, and supporting his weight with his right arm. The sergeant dragged Benjamin’s horse on a rope behind his own mount. And now the sergeant spurred his horse on to follow Captain von Innow. Every single step hurt.

The Swedes were surveying the battlefield, searching for their fallen comrades and for loot as well. Von Innow’s men had already found most of their comrades. Benjamin recognized the young cornet, the mule-thief Hansen, the lieutenant and the trumpeter, all dead. The good citizens of Lützen and the peasants from the next village had made a thorough job of looting during the night. Many of the dead were clad only in their shirts or even stripped naked. There was no difference anymore between gentlemen and servants, Swedes or Imperials. Idly, Benjamin wondered how long the citizens would be able to enjoy their spoils.

The soldier had found Karl. The old man had been shot through the chest. Von Innow heaved a sigh and hung his head. For a long time he sat there, staring at the dead old man.

Benjamin couldn’t tell if the captain was saying a prayer in silence. He himself was content as long as he didn't have to move more than by shivering with fever.

The sergeant, however, grew impatient after a while. He looked around, watched his soldiers picking up the weapons the citizens hadn’t spotted at night. A drum signal rolled over the battlefield.

Von Innow didn’t react.

“We have to gather, Sir!” the sergeant told his superior. “We’ll miss Karl, but you’ll find enough capable horse boys left behind at Naumburg.”

“He was all what was left of home,” the captain said, his voice thick.

“Home?” A derisive snort followed the sergeant’s reply. “What’s home these days anyway?”

“Once it was hope,” von Innow said and spurred his horse on.

Benjamin closed his eyes. _Once it was hope._ Yes, but all he could hope for now was not to die in agony. To be allowed to walk. To sit close to a fire. To die perhaps, just to end this pain and fever. He could sleep then …

Sleep. But for now he had to keep his balance in the saddle without sitting down.

 

***

 

It took two hours on the way until the sergeant wondered about his prisoner’s riding style. “What’s the matter with you, lad?” the grey-bearded cavalry man asked. “You’re sitting on your horse as if you took a shot in the arse.”

Benjamin hurt too much to answer. _Wish it were a shot!_ But it was his anus, torn by the rape, which made riding torture.

The Swedish army was on the way back from the battlefield. On the road to Weissenfels and Naumburg, von Innow’s company passed the village of Rippach, where Benjamin had met the Imperial Generals Isolani and Colloredo. Now, it was the morning of the 17th November 1632. To Benjamin his last visit at the inn seemed like centuries past, but actually he had been here only two days ago.

Benjamin shook in fever and with the memory of the rape. He still felt the redcoats’ hands grabbing him, their cocks impaling him and tainting him in a way that would never ever wash off again. He was terrified to find the seat of his shirt bloody again after this ride.

To turn his thoughts away from the inn and everything that had happened later, he stared at the black mane and the reddish ears of his horse. The animal’s head bobbed slowly in rhythm with its walk. Trot or canter would have killed him with agony, but the whole Swedish army – or their reduced rank and file – moved at a sluggish pace. The Swedes had won the battle: Wallenstein had left the field first, and – worse – he had lost his cannon. But hungry and cold, the Swedes hung their heads as if they were the losers.

 

***

 

The sun was close to noon when the Swedish army met their train in front of the city walls of Weissenfels. The cooking fires and the food raised the spirit of the men. The marching column resolved into chaos: everyone was looking for their company’s field kitchen.

As soon as von Innow’s soldiers had gathered around their fire, trumpet signals blared. But they called the officers. With a weary curse von Innow pulled himself into the saddle again and left his soldiers behind.

Benjamin felt too dazed to climb off his horse. With an angry grunt, the sergeant grabbed him and pulled him down. Benjamin was set to his feet, and a few minutes later, a bowl of soup was pressed into his hands. He hugged the bowl close to his chest to warm himself. The smell of the rich soup had no appeal to him.

The soldiers ate ravenously while the women prodded them with growing dread to talk: “Where’s my husband?”, “Where is Peter?”, “Have you seen my Heinrich?”, “Are you all that's left of the whole company?!”

There were more women present than had left the camp with the train. Probably they had followed the army on their own, their hope for loot bigger than the fear of becoming prey themselves.

It was the sergeant who had to answer them, now that the captain had been called away.

“It’s true, girls,” he said. “There are no more survivors. This was one of the most awful battles I’ve seen so far, and I’ve been a soldier for almost thirty years now.” In a smaller voice he added, “There were some forces left at the battlefield for clearing and reconnaissance, but not from our company. I’m sorry.”

Some of the women started to cry, others cursed their fate, God, Fortuna and the generals. The sergeant was hugged tightly by a chubby matron as soon as she had filled all the soup bowls.

 

***

 

It took an hour until the captain returned. His head hung and his shoulders slumped, von Innow waved away the young woman who wanted to give him a bowl of soup as soon as he got off his horse.

“Gentlemen,” he addressed his men in a grave voice. “I bear bad news. His majesty, King Gustavus Adolphus of Sweden is dead. For the time being, our Duke Bernhard is the commander-in-chief of the whole army.”

Stunned, the men looked at him, their soup forgotten for a moment. “But it was said that the king is only wounded!” a rider said, his voice accusing. “And lightly at that!”

Von Innow shook his head. “He fell in the battle, early in the afternoon on the right wing he commanded. Stålhandske’s cuirassiers reported that in the fog His Majesty rode into a group of Imperial cuirassiers and was shot. His body was taken here to Weissenfels, and the officers will later be allowed to pay their last respect to him.” He spread his hands in a helpless gesture, and turned to the woman then, summoning her to give him the food now.

“Great!” another rider snarled. “So the bigwigs took us for a ride again!”

“Shut up, Wagner!” the captain said, looking up from stirring his soup. “If Duke Bernhard had admitted that the king was dead most soldiers would have lost courage and we would have lost the battle.”

The muttering around was approval: for Wagner, not for the captain.

“And what would have happened then, huh?” von Innow growled, frowning at his scowling men. “By now, we would be running like hares, the Imperials looting our train and taking your women. Would you like that? I wouldn’t. I'd rather have the Duke telling us a white lie and leading us to a victory! You saw the bodies on the Imperial side. I bet a quarter of their army was lying there, if not a third. So we’re rid of them at least for this winter. Wasn’t that anything worth fighting for?”

“It is,” the sergeant confirmed, glaring at everybody present but von Innow. The soldiers and the women nodded. Some reluctantly, perhaps thinking of their own losses.

“The good news,” Captain von Innow said with a pause to catch their attention, “is that Duke Bernhard allowed us as his Life Regiment to stay in Weissenfels as long as he is here. That means we’ll sleep in a house tonight. That _is_ something, yes?”

This was great news. Nobody cheered, however, but everybody smiled with relief. A dry house, a fire in a hearth! This was so much better than the tents and clay huts they had left behind in the camp at Naumburg. Even Benjamin was looking forward to this.

The captain pointed with his spoon at the two youngest soldiers of his crew. “Fischer, Klein, you ride to Naumburg and bring my wagon here. And don’t forget my tent. Because Duke Bernhard just sent messengers to the Swedish Chancellor and the Queen, I hope we’ll stay here for a while. Don’t pout, lads! Most of the army have to return to the Naumburg camp for the time being!”

“No winter quarters yet?” Even the sergeant sounded appalled.

 Von Innow shrugged. “Not as long as we don’t know how far Wallenstein runs.” Finally he started eating, showelling his food down but gazing into empty space.

 

***

 

The house the quartermaster assigned them was a timber-frame house halfway between the marketplace and the southern city gate. It was a two storey building of a size that might belong to a prosperous member of an artisans' guild. But it was no master artisan who met the captain on the top of the stairs, but a middle-aged woman in widows’ black.

Scared, she stared up the tall officer and hid two little girls behind her back. “There is nothing here to get any more, good Sir,” she said. “The Imperials have taken everything, and what they couldn’t carry away, they smashed.”

She pointed at the windows. All were broken because the soldiers had taken the lead between the little glass patches to cast bullets.

“Don’t you worry, Madam,” Captain von Innow promised. “All we need is a roof over our heads and a place to rest for the next days. What’s your name?”

“I’m Mrs. Sommer,” she said in a small voice.

“Captain Kai von Innow,” the officer introduced himself with a courteous bow. To his men who were unloading their horses in the yard he called, “You’ll pay proper respect to Mrs. Sommer as if she were my wife, is this understood! The same goes for you, ladies!”

Some disgruntled comments answered his statement. Mrs. Sommer paled to an ashen grey. The captain didn’t spare her a second glance and went into the house.

 

***

 

Mrs. Sommer had been right about the havoc the former occupants of her home had wreaked. All windows were broken; not a single cooking pot or plate was left. Her furniture had been chopped to firewood, and before they had run, the Imperials had even ripped off the boards of the stairs and carried them away.

Cursing, von Innow’s men started to repair the damage to make the house habitable. Where they had got the boards and nails they brought, Benjamin didn’t dare to imagine. All he wanted was to huddle closer to the hearth, where the train women had started a fire and put down their own kettles and spits.

At the moment they quarrelled about whether to make groats or brew beer from the half bag of barley that was left. Mrs. Sommer’s little daughters begged for the naked grain.

“The other soldiers took all our food!”

“Three days ago! Please!”

“Get lost!” one of the cooks shot back.

“Now give them a piece of bread, woman!” the sergeant growled at her while passing by with some boards. “You know the captain will feed them anyway!”

“Am I Jesus? Is our grain supply unlimited?” Cursing under her breath, the cook went to the basket with the bread and searched for a crust.

Benjamin didn’t care even for her blasphemy. He scooted over a little closer to the fireplace, but got a hit with a wooden ladle: “Scram!”

Mrs. Sommer stared at the soldiers’ wives with disbelief, swallowing hard at her little piece of dry bread. “You’re beating a clergyman?”

The sergeant’s chubby wife dismissed her question with a wave of ladle. “That’s one of the Antichrist’s. Don’t you worry about him.”

Benjamin looked up to Mrs. Sommer. Of course that was a lie! Not he served the Antichrist, but the Protestant preachers! Mrs. Sommer, however, stared back at him as if he were a danger worse than a whole company of mercenaries in her house. The younger daughter stood close to Benjamin’s place, and Mrs. Sommer hurried to pull the girl out of the prisoner’s reach. She ushered the children into the room behind the kitchen.

 

***

 

The Captain had been absent the whole afternoon, but he returned shortly after Fischer and Klein arrived with his wagon at sunset. Von Innow wore a new black hat with a grey plume. His face was washed and shaved, and the laceration on his jaw had been sewn with a few stitches.

A company of women and children had followed the wagon. They had come to ask for their husbands and fathers. Scowling, the captain ordered to feed them, and the groats was diluted to a broth. After supper, however, von Innow told everybody to leave who was not related with his surviving soldiers.

“Sir, you can’t do this!” a young widow called out. “What’s going to become of us! Of our children!”

“Allow us at least to stay as servants!”

“And what about the money Duke Bernhard owes our husbands for the last three months!”

“Yes, what about the money! You led our husbands into battle, into death, and now you want us to starve?”

Captain von Innow glared at them. “None of us got paid, not even me! If you want money, go to von Hassfurt who plays the paymaster! Go to the battlefield and take what you can and sell it. Hell and damnation! I’m the captain of a cavalry company! Of soldiers! Not of widows and orphans! And now leave before I’ll have you thrown out!”

His soldiers, however, watched intently the tips of their boots, obviously not willing to shove their comrades’ widows out into darkness and drizzling rain.

The woman who had spoken up first, read their miens right, and suddenly she dropped to the floor. “I won’t leave until I’ve got the last month’s pay of my husband!”

Others followed her example suit. Von Innow stared in disbelief at the sea of skirts that covered the floor. Kitchen tiles and stairs were occupied by women who pulled their children onto their laps. “Our money, Captain!”

Von Innow and the sergeant exchanged a glance. Mutinous soldiers would be brought into line by simply killing the nearest ones in reach, but both officer and sergeant seemed to be at a loss as to what to do with the widows. The soldiers looked at the stubborn women with a mix of amusement and admiration.

The captain conceded defeat with a sigh. “I’ll talk to von Hassfurt.” Shaking his head as if he had never seen such folly, he stalked through the women to the door like the proverbial stork through the lettuce – a very morose stork, however.

 

***

 

During the next hour the kitchen resembled a marketplace, but the commodities were widows and orphans. Most of the surviving soldiers had their own wife and children or an unrelated horse boy as well, but they were begged to take more under their wings – and to choose freely.

The soldiers were tempted, but their own wives objected vehemently.

“Are you mad?” Fischer’s wife hissed at her husband. “We three make our living from your ration, and you want to share these scraps with another person? Forget it! I’d rather stab that lad than feed him!”

And the sergeant’s wife called out: “That slut for a maid servant? I’ll beat you black and blue, do you hear me?”

A brunette in a striped skirt jumped up: “You dare call me a slut? You fat maggot steal from the company kitchen! Be cursed for begrudging an honest wife some food!”

“Shut up, you witch!”

“Thief!”

“Lousy cunt!”

And on it went. Benjamin wished he were deaf. He sat wedged between women who took sides now and cursed loudly either the sergeant’s wife and her kitchen staff or the girl in the striped skirt.

All accusations and grudges of the last years were dished out now, and it was only thanks to the sergeant’s authority that the knives produced caused no further losses.

Benjamin put his hands over his ears. Suddenly he was grateful that his cassock and the rope burns – shameful as they might be – made it perfectly clear that he was a prisoner and not one worth an offer from these hellcats.

The shouting match went on until the captain returned. Then it died down in an instant. Von Innow stood in the doorway, his face a mask of disgust, but it was not clear if his disgust was caused by the ones he came from or the ones he was facing.

“Bad luck,” he said in a gruff voice. “Hassfurt refuses to spend one single penny for pay, now that no-one knows what will become of the campaign, and the Duke says the same, just in more elaborate words. All I got was promises.”

“And now?” a timid voice asked from the background.

Von Innow snarled. “I’ll pay you. It won’t come up to a whole month’s pay, though. I had put some money aside for horse food, but I haven’t heard anything from the merchants, and most of our horses are food for the ravens anyway. Come on, ladies, get up and queue!”

From his jacket he pulled a pouch, and started to give the women coins. The coins were a mix, from silver Thalers minted in several countries of the Empire down to copper pennies. Thus he forged some teams who had to share a certain coin. Other groups warily discussed a certain currency’s current worth.

Benjamin hoped that they would continue to argue outdoors. His awareness dimmed and grew with the noise level in the room. He faintly noticed that the captain accepted two boys for his horse and finally managed to usher the widows out. Then von Innow strode into the room behind the kitchen and slammed the door shut.

The ones who stayed in the house – and probably everybody up and down the street as well – heard von Innow take out his foul mood on his company’s surgeon. Roaring, he accused the surgeon of cowardice for running with the train and thus being guilty of many good soldiers’ deaths.

“If I had tried to stay behind the train, the Croats would certainly have killed me!” the surgeon called out. “What do you expect me to do when the whole train is attacked by redcoats!”

“What is expected of every soldier!” the captain thundered. “To fight! And if you could not fight, then to flee to the second line reserve instead of running to the hinterland!”

When the surgeon dashed out of the room he was shaking and close to tears with humiliation. The sergeant pointed at the repaired stairwell. “Upstairs there are some folks who still need you.”

To the soldiers in the kitchen and the newly-minted horse boys the sergeant said: “Hurry, unload the captain’s wagon. And bring him a cask of wine first!”

He started to pull Benjamin to his feet as well, but thought better of it and let go of the prisoner with a startled grunt.

Benjamin didn’t care for the reason, he was just grateful to be left alone. All he wanted was a place closer to the fire. And sleep. He dozed off while the soldiers carried the captain’s casks and furniture into the room behind the kitchen.

 

***

 

“BENJAMIN!” That roar would have startled even a dying man from his fever dreams. “Where’s that god-forsaken, bloody gallows-bird of a cleric!”

Benjamin had barely woken when the captain loomed above him.

“Where’s Jerzy’s knife?”

# Chapter 16

 _What knife?_ Benjamin wanted to ask, but the captain had already grabbed him by his hair and dragged him into the room behind the kitchen. Benjamin felt like a young dog that was about to be confronted with its mishap on the floor. But he was sure the captain would treat a whelp with more consideration.

The soldiers still carried the captain’s belongings into the room. Inside, there were already two of the boxes with the looted books, the casks, the captain’s furniture and trunk.

The trunk was open, and next to it von Innow’s cuirass parts lay on the floor. As did the damaged letter box. The linen towels in which the golden gospel had once been wrapped drooped over the edge of the trunk.

The haze of fever made Benjamin slow in realizing, but now he understood: von Innow had been talking about the elaborate hunting knife with the silver inlays. The knife he had taken and thrown away later in vain, hoping to distract his pursuers.

“I took it as a weapon,” Benjamin managed to rasp. His throat hurt much more than it had in the morning. He hugged himself. In his fever, he couldn’t care less about this knife. Why did the captain care more about it than about a gospel with a gold-plated cover? Why had this god-forsaken heretic had to wake him just because of a stupid dagger?

“Where is it now?” the captain demanded, raising his hand to slap his prisoner in the face.

 _What do I know!_ But the captain’s furious mien made Benjamin think again. He felt too bad to take another beating again, and von Innow looked as if he wanted to kill Benjamin the very next moment.

“I lost it near the Rippach.” Benjamin cleared his burning throat. “When your dragoons were after me and I ran into the redcoats.” He would not detail that he had deliberately thrown the dagger away. “With some luck one of your dragoons has it now.”

But that helpful hint wasn’t welcome.

“Thou shalt not steal!” von Innow thundered and grabbed Benjamin by the front of his cassock. “Does that sound familiar to you at all, cleric?”

Oh yes, it did.

Benjamin gritted his teeth. What could he say? You damned hypocrite had stolen it yourself? I didn’t take it to annoy you, I just needed a weapon? It was my duty to warn my army? The Lord told me to go?

Nothing of this would appease the captain.

“Now tell me one reason why I shouldn’t have you hanged for theft right now!” von Innow hissed.

One reason? Well, there was always this one: “If you’ll exchange me for ransom, the money my brethren will give you will make up for your losses. But if you’ll kill me you’ll go away empty-handed.”

Von Innow snorted with contempt. “Make up for my losses? You god-awful bastard! That knife was the only memento I had of a man I’ve been with for more than ten years, and you think your filthy money can make up for that?”

He shoved Benjamin back hard. Benjamin stumbled backwards. His legs caught on some wood, and he fell ­– straight into the captain’s bed. Unfortunately, it was just the wooden pallet, the bag of straw was still missing. He tried to catch his momentum – and cried out when he fell onto his injured arm. His sight greyed out for a moment, and black spots danced in front of his eyes: little devils to remind him that in this place he would find hell and no mercy at all. In panic he tried to get up. Von Innow’s sword made a hissing sound when produced from the sheath. Its point pressing in the pit of his stomach forced Benjamin to drop flat onto his back again.

Wide-eyed he stared from the blade up to the captain. _Lord, no! Please, make him stop! Please make him accept ransom and return me to my Order!_

“Jerzy was a good man, one of the bravest cavalry men the King of Poland had,” von Innow said. “But a single stab of a rapier in a stupid duel sealed his fate. It took him three long days to die. And when I sent for a priest, all of you _bastards_ were busy with anything but your duty! When I finally left his side to implore his family’s father confessor to come to our quarters, do you know what that bird said? That he would not absolve such a bugger, no matter how much money or contrition I would offer. In the end it was me, trying to cobble together the Our Father in Latin to give him at least the semblance of a good death!”

Von Innow was shouting the last words, and Benjamin started to pray in silence for his own poor soul, not able to avert his eyes from the steel that poked into his stomach.

The captain’s voice was lower when he continued, but tight with fury. “When Jerzy died that night, all that his brothers would have let me was that dagger, because they generously remembered that I had given it to him on his promotion to Lieutenant-Colonel.  And their blasted priest even refused to have him buried in the graveyard. The very next day I saw that holier-than-thou piece of shit with his paws in a kitchen maid’s skirts, and I should add the girl was anything but delighted about it? Do you know what I did do to this bastard?”

At first, Benjamin considered it to be a mere rhetorical question, but the captain looked him in the eye, expecting an answer.

Benjamin shook his head. _Ran him through with this very same rapier?_

“I cut his throat and let him bleed to death without any confession or blessing by one of his ilk – he died as badly as my Jerzy had,” von Innow snarled. With a laugh he added: “Which was also my last deed as an officer of the Polish army as you can imagine!” Sobering, he glared at Benjamin. “Now, what am I supposed to do with you?”

“You killed a priest?” Sudden rage made Benjamin call out loud. “And you dare judge me! You murdered a servant of the Lord! You are a foe of God himself! Everything that I did to do damage to your cause was a good deed! A sacred one! And you may rage and threaten me and even kill me, but all you’ll do will be in vain, for at the end you will rot in hell while I will be in heaven. For my cause is just and I serve the Lord – even if this meant running with your kni…”

The blade pierced his cassock, and Benjamin yelped. He squeezed his eyes shut and made the sign of the cross. “Lord have mercy on me, a sinner!”

The pressure of the sword point lifted.

Metal scratched over metal, when von Innow sheathed his weapon. Carefully, Benjamin opened his eyes. For the tiniest moment he hoped his speech would have impressed the heretic. But there was neither awe nor contrition on von Innow’s face – but a nasty smirk spreading over it. The Captain crossed his arms in front of his chest: “You won’t become a martyr so easily, Saint Benjamin.”

Benjamin pushed himself up to a sitting position. “Stop mocking me! I told you I was sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you personally when I took this weapon, but I had to go. I had to warn my army. Anything else was secondary!”

“Your word of honour – your _own_ _honour_ was secondary? Very well.” The captain drew a deep breath. Turning to the audience that had assembled in the meantime, he barked: “Out! All of you!”

Benjamin stared at the sergeant and his men. Should he ask them for help? Promise them the ransom if they reported the captain to his superiors? But would said superiors care? Probably not, for they were heretics and considered only a dead Catholic priest a good one.

Before Benjamin had made up his mind, the sergeant left the room – as did the soldiers and their boys.

Benjamin got on his feet. Getting away from the bed was the safest thing he could do. Or so he hoped. He looked the captain in the eye, hoped von Innow would notice how badly he was off.

The man probably noticed, because the look Benjamin got in return was not the furious one he expected, but a scrutinizing gaze, a calculating one.

“I’ll show you what stealing for your just cause leads to,” the captain said. “Let’s hope your brain isn’t so poisoned by incense that you won’t remember that lesson.”

“And what are those if not stolen!” Accusingly, Benjamin pointed at the boxes with the books. “These belong to a monastery in Bavaria! You loot the Empire waffling about honour, but I’m to be punished for taking a single knife! Where’s the justice in that!”

To his dismay this outburst made the heretic grin, genuinely amused. “These, dear boy, are prize of war.”

 _You god-awful hypocrite are no better than me!_ Benjamin wanted to shout, but all he could do was to stare at von Innow’s huge hands, undoing the buckle of his belt.

“Over the table!” Von Innow commanded.

But in Benjamin’s mind there was no table, not even the room he was in: there were the redcoats, hurrying to get rid of buckles and buttons.

“NO!”

Von Innow grabbed for him.

 _Fight!_ Benjamin jumped at the captain and landed a punch right to von Innow’s stomach. The tall man slumped with a gasp, and yet he answered with a blow to Benjamin’s jaw.

The world greyed out. The very next moment, Benjamin was yanked up by his collar and thrown onto the table top. He gasped for air, trying to regain sight and to push himself up.

Lightning hit him. He yelled. A second blow, a third … It was the belt the captain was beating him with.

For an instant, Benjamin felt relief. It was ‘just’ a beating von Innow had in mind! But the next lash made his body burst with pain. The leather slammed down onto the small of his back, but the agony was everywhere. The captain was stronger than anyone who had flogged him before, and von Innow struck down as if he wanted to kill. The thick cassock Benjamin wore was not much of an armour under his onslaught. Benjamin heard himself scream, his voice as rough as a donkey’s. A donkey that begged for mercy.

There was indeed a pause. But von Innow took it to yank up Benjamin’s cassock over his hips.

“NO!” Benjamin struggled and kicked when he felt fingers grip into the waistband of his trousers, pulling them down.

Von Innow grabbed Benjamin by the hair and pressed him down onto the table with his full weight. “What ‘no’?” he hissed into Benjamin’s ear, but unlike the first time a few days ago there was no trace of playfulness in his voice. “Afraid to get fucked?” His right hand pulled Benjamin’s shirt up, running over his naked thigh. “Yes, maybe I’ll fuck you when I’m done with beating you. What else are you good for? Nothing!”

Von Innow pushed himself up, allowing Benjamin to breathe properly again.

 _Lord, have mercy on me!_ Benjamin cried out in anguish when his shirt was pulled up further and his buttocks were exposed. Fucked! He remembered the pain too well. “Lord, not again! Not this!”

“Who?”

He heard the captain call out, but didn’t understand the word at first.

“Who the hell did that!” von Innow shouted.

Benjamin didn’t need to ask what the officer meant. His buttocks were grabbed and spread, and for once Benjamin hoped there was visible damage enough to deter the heretic. But the redcoats hadn’t felt deterred, had laughed when they wiped blood and semen from their spent cocks.

Von Innow let go of him, stepped back. “Damn ...”

Benjamin turned far enough to see the purple and black bruises on his hip. Shivering he pulled his shirt down. He did not have to see this. He did not have to look the captain in the eye as well. He could not.

He buried his face in his hands. _Have mercy, and give me a swift death, will you!_

“And that was for what you ran, huh? To gain this?” he heard von Innow snarl behind him. “Was that the welcome your army of the sacred cause gave you? Soldiers of the Lord indeed!”

“What do you know!” Benjamin shouted. His back protested when he pushed himself up and turned, but for a moment white-hot fury outweighed the pain. “May those god-awful redcoats get you soon, fuck you to death, and leave you to rot!”

“So it was Isolani’s pack…” Von Innow nodded with a snort. He looked like as if he was about to spit onto the floor. After a while of staring at Benjamin he turned away, picked up his sword, sheathed it on the belt and put it on.

Benjamin couldn’t bite back a groan when he finally dared to bend down and pull up his trousers. He cast a glance at the captain, uncertain if the heretic would allow him to dress. Von Innow kicked a chair across the room and fetched a jug from the window sill.

Benjamin hurt too much to jump when von Innow returned to him.

The captain pressed the jug into Benjamin’s hands. “There.”

Flabbergasted, Benjamin stared from the captain to the wine and back. But von Innow left him alone and went to the door, opened it: “Master Rudolf! Fritz!”

Master Rudolf turned out to be the surgeon the captain had shouted at not long ago. He was followed by a gaunt youth.

Von Innow pointed at Benjamin. “I want that lad patched up. And wash him thoroughly, I don’t want any battlefield grime in my bed.”

In his bed? Benjamin almost dropped the wine.

Not looking at Benjamin once, von Innow put on his hat and strode off the devil knew where. Benjamin prayed that he might never return.

His hands shook badly when he set the jar down, untouched, and wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his cassock.

Master Rudolf went to him. “Thank God, you’re alive. We'd already wondered.”

Hugging himself, Benjamin stared at the bed. The shivering wouldn’t stop.


	4. Chapter 4

# Chapter 17

“Now look at this one!” The sergeant pushed his head through the gap between the sheets and by that into the makeshift bath house Master Rudolf had set up in the kitchen. “Now he’s lazing around like a well-suckled infant – was undressing so terrible at all, boy?”

It had been terrible, even if the sergeant had sent all the women upstairs before he threatened to give Benjamin another beating in case the cleric wouldn’t undress and climb into the tub.

Benjamin barely managed to glare over the rim of the wooden wash tub that held his bath. True, from the hot water his skin was almost as red as a newborn’s. But instead of milk the surgeon had fed him brandy. Lots of it. Finally, he felt warm.

Feeling half-asleep, Benjamin didn’t care either for the sergeant’s jibes or for the fact that bathing was dangerous: the water would open the pores of his skin so that more diseases than just this fever could invade his body. And besides, having a hot bath was simply indecent, so better not think about it. A good Jesuit wouldn’t indulge in a bath. He would take one from time to time, preferably before Easter and Christmas, but he would linger in it, making it a pleasure of the flesh.

Thank God the lather hid most of his flesh from sight. Only his head and left shoulder and arm were visible. And Fritz just caused more lather by pouring another jug of hot water over Benjamin’s head to rinse his hair. The boy and the surgeon took their task seriously to remove any grime from Benjamin’s body. But to what end? Thinking of the captain, a sodomite and murderer of priests, Benjamin felt his stomach knot. But thanks to the brandy, his drunken mind drifted soon.

He encouraged it to drift, steered it away from Captain von Innow and from the memory of the battlefield: back home, back in time. His mother had also believed that bathing was a good thing, so good that it had to happen every Saturday evening: “My children won’t go to Holy Mass resembling piglets!” She hadn’t cared for the physicians’ findings.

Master Rudolf didn’t care either. “I was raised in a bath house,” he had said at least three times. “Am I dead by now? No. There!”

At least the man had read his Paré: the salve on Benjamin’s left arm smelled of turpentine and rose oil. But for the rest of his life he would be marked with an ugly scar. At the moment, he could only hope and pray that the muscles would knit and regain their former strength. His efforts to help the wounded on the battlefield had broken the first suture, and now the wound was too swollen to sew again. Benjamin was grateful for the young surgeon’s decision to forgo the needles. He closed his eyes. Sleeping … Forgetting about everything, be it needles or surgeons or wounds and pain … or how he had achieved the fresh welts on his back … and by whom.

A stream of cold air stirred the curtain of his bath house, followed by the sound of a door slammed shut.

“Hey, what’s ... what a bloody fog in here …”

Benjamin sat up with a start. No! Not this voice! Not this man!

“Easy.” Master Rudolf put a hand on Benjamin’s shoulder. He had busied himself with packing his collection of tiny flasks and jars into a bag, but returned to his patient immediately.

But it was too late to hide. Like the sergeant before, Captain von Innow appeared between the sheets. But unlike the sergeant, he tore down one of them from the line in an attempt to get a hold somewhere.

“Oh, damn,” he said, swaying a little. “I think ... I am completely drunk.”

“Exactly what I thought, Sir.” Master Rudolf fought a grin by frowning.

Not paying attention to the surgeon at all, von Innow blinked at the tub and its contents. A merry grin split his face. “Ah, yes! I’ll have a bath, too.”

 

 

“That’s a great idea, Sir.” Master Rudolf hastily summoned the horse boy. “Fritz, help the captain to his room and out of his boots.”

“No need, can undress here as well.” Von Innow slumped against the tub and busied himself with his boots, cursing.

Master Rudolf shook his head with an exasperated glance at his superior. Then he pulled the other sheet from the line and held it open, ensuring a modicum of privacy for Benjamin. With a jerk of his head he ordered Benjamin to get out of the tub.

Fear roused Benjamin sufficiently to climb out of the water swiftly, and both Fritz and the surgeon supported him when he slipped. Master Rudolf wrapped his patient in the sheet and used it as a towel as well.

“Hey, I meant having a bath with my Jesuit!” von Innow complained with the grouchiness of the drunk.

“With all due respect, Sir!” Master Rudolf huffed. “This afternoon you ordered me to patch up the prisoner, and I’m not finished with that! By the way, the tub is much too small for two.”

With that he grabbed his bag and ushered Benjamin out of the kitchen, again under the watchful eye of the sergeant.

 

*** 

 

The bed in the captain’s room was made by now, with its straw mattress and woollen blankets, and Master Rudolf had told Fritz a while ago to put some hot bricks into it to warm the blankets. While the room was cold, it was comfortably warm under the blankets, but Benjamin’s teeth chattered. More with terror than with cold.

“Please, Sir, couldn’t you tell the captain that I must sleep somewhere else? For medical reasons?” he rasped. Only the menacing presence of the sergeant kept him in the bed.

Master Rudolf shook his head. “The captain’s bed is the only decent one in this house – the only one, at all, to be precise. Everyone else will sleep more or less on the floor, but with your fever I won’t recommend that.”

He took a bandage from his bag. “There. Now let me dress your arm before you lie down.”

Benjamin turned to give the surgeon better access.

“But he’ll …” He snarled with disgust even to give names to his worst fear. “You saw my bruises! I told you what the redcoats did! The captain wanted to do the same to me!”

“But he didn’t,” Master Rudolf stated, applying the bandage.

Benjamin shuddered. “When seeing the evidence these other dogs left…”

“You won’t call the captain a dog, boy!” the sergeant growled and took a step towards the bed. Benjamin had learned to hate the man during the last hours. He had obeyed the old soldier, cowed by the fear of another beating. Shaking with anger and humiliation he had undressed, exposing the shameful bruises for everybody to ogle.

Benjamin glared at the cavalry man. His voice sounded much too weary for his own liking. It didn’t match the fury he felt, not at all: “Your captain is a god-damned sodomite!” he stated, but heaved a breath instead of snarling. “Don’t you tell me you didn’t know it when you left me bound in his tent! And by exposing me to his deadly sin you commit one yourself! What do you think will happen when the captain returns now?”

The sergeant put his fist onto his sword. “You better shut up, cleric, or you’ll have a thing up your arse that hurts much more than any man’s prick!”

“Gentlemen, please!” Master Rudolf said with strained patience. He tied the split end of the bandage with a neat bow.

“The captain _is_ a good man!” the sergeant insisted. “I’ve fought for many, and he’s the only one who really cares for his men and horses! If he likes to fuck boys, hell, that’s not so unheard of. Some gentlemen have strange tastes.”

Seeing Benjamin’s enraged mien, he added with a nasty grin: “And isn’t it the favourite sin of Catholic clerics anyway?”

Benjamin almost choked with fury. _How dare those dirty heretics …_ The sad truth, however, was that he remembered too well how often Father Andreas had warned him not to stay with a certain priest or another alone in a room.

“But it is a crime,” Master Rudolf objected to Benjamin’s astonishment. “And you can’t deny that it offends our Lord.”

“Then leave it to the _Lord_ to do something about it!” the sergeant growled. Whether he feared that he might lose the debate or was not interested anymore in watching a prisoner getting tucked in – he turned and left the room.

From the kitchen there was a big splash now to be heard, and boisterous laughter followed. A woman’s voice called out: “Oh! Come down to the kitchen and have a look, gals, our captain is having a bath!” Several pairs of feet ran down the stairs.

“Out!” the captain roared.

“But, Sir, who’ll heat the water?” a woman laughed, and a girl’s voice added, “And wash your hair?”

“And fetch you wine?”

“And scrub your back?”

“Why only the back? There’s a lot at the front to be scrubbed too!”

“Sergeant! Save me from these wenches, will you!” von Innow yelled with laughter.

Master Rudolf sighed and started towelling Benjamin’s hair.

Benjamin almost didn’t notice. The laughter, squealing and giggles from the next room reminded him of the bath house brothels of his hometown – or in every other town, the sad truth to be told. Not that he had ever visited such a house. But when they walked through a city, Father Andreas pointed at the source of a noise like this and said: “It’s the devil himself, who has a bath there, don’t you hear it?”

Benjamin shuddered. But why couldn’t the god-forsaken captain take out his appetite on these ‘wenches’ like every man else did? _Why on me? Why me?_

He looked up when Master Rudolf stopped rubbing his head.

“Can’t you help me?” Benjamin asked. “He’ll rape me!”

The surgeon shook his head. “Tonight he’ll be too drunk. That much I can assure you.”

“Please!” Benjamin begged. “You said yourself it’s a crime! Why not report him to his superiors? Would you really risk our Lord’s wrath come upon you and your comrades for this man’s sin?”

Master Rudolf frowned at him. “I don’t approve,” he said with an edge. “But as the sergeant said, there are worse officers than our captain. Much worse.”

 _Probably those who would have hanged you for your cowardice when you ran away from the redcoats!_ Benjamin glared at the surgeon. “I understand.” He buried himself deeper into the blankets.

Master Rudolf watched him with a sad scowl, then searched his bag for a jar. “I’ll leave this here. It’s a salve; you should apply it to your anus anyway. Take lots of it, just in case he …“ With that he pointed at the door to the kitchen, “.... well, you know.”

Shocked, Benjamin stared at the young man who answered with a helpless shrug. Then Master Rudolf turned and went to the door. “I’ll be right back.”

_Lord, help me! Mother of God, please, please have mercy on me!_

Praying was the only way of action left. For a moment Benjamin considered running: climbing through one of the windows and hiding in the town – until the gates would be opened next morning … and von Innow had had time enough to inform all city guards about a missing prisoner. No, if he wanted to leave this way, he had to sneak away early, in the very first light of the morning while the captain was hopefully still sleeping it off. But that meant staying here and risking everything the heretic had on his drunken mind.

Benjamin pulled a blanket over his wet head, glaring at the little jar that sat on the chair next to the bed. He would so not touch himself there! The memory alone made him gag.

_Why me! And why did I insist to go to Saxony at all! Lord, what have I done that you punish me so hard, whereas a sinner like this heretic can have his ways, unperturbed by any sorrow! Why did you save him! That bastard took two bullets through his cuirass, and you saved him! I do not deserve this! Not again!_

In a corner of his mind the devil was back, ready to spout his blasphemous venom. _No!_ Benjamin thought, _Our Lord is not with the heretics! It must be my mistake! It must be! It’s a trial of my faith, my …_

He started when the door opened again.

“Please, Madam, in here.” The surgeon’s voice said.

“But I can’t!” That was Mrs. Sommer. “At least leave my children out of this!”

“Madam!” Master Rudolf said in a soothing voice. “There is nowhere else you’ll be safer than here! That’s going to be a nasty booze-up in the kitchen, and after that no-one can guarantee for your safety but the captain.”

“But didn’t you hear him!” Her voice was high-pitched with terror. “He claimed me as his wife, and certainly he will …”

“No, he will not!” Master Rudolf declared. “Our captain has many vices, but taking advantage of women is none of them. He has a bedfellow already, and all I want of you is to share his room – not his bed, together with your children. It’s the safest place in the house, believe me.”

“In my house,” she said, her voice strangled with a sob.

“In your house. And it will still be your house when we are gone, and all will be well again,” Master Rudolf soothed.

“Well? Well! What do you know!” Now she was crying, and the little girls started to sob as well.

Master Rudolf heaved an exasperated sigh. Then he busied himself with putting the chairs together, creating a cot for the children and their mother to sleep on, and he gave them one of the captain’s many blankets: “There. He won’t mind, trust me.”

“Thank you.” Mrs. Sommer’s voice trembled. Master Rudolf nodded at her and left the room, winking at Benjamin.

 “Good Lord, have mercy upon us!” the owner of the house sighed. Then she ushered her children up the makeshift bed. “Come on, girls, now say your prayers. And whatever will happen, remember: you will face the wall, you will not cry, and you will not move!”

“But mum…” a child objected.

“No ‘but’, young lady, lie down and pray!”

Of course they said the Our Father in German, misled as they were. But Benjamin understood their fear and hoped the Lord would answer their prayers, too – just this once.

Benjamin included them in his prayers. The brandy made his voice slur and his eyes droop shut. But he would not sleep! Counting on his fingers, he started saying the rosary again.

The noise of merry revellers in the kitchen distracted him, however. Their toasts were loud enough to hear that the soldiers were celebrating the fact that they had survived the battle and this year’s campaign.

Which was the sad truth, Benjamin realized: Wallenstein had forced the Swedes to leave southern Germany, but that was all that had been achieved. The Swedish army was decimated, but far from being scattered. And they had won many cannons more ...

Fever and fatigue stopped him worrying about the Empire’s fate, however. Benjamin woke up with a start when the door opened, his heart racing.

But these steps were too light to be the captain’s: It was Fritz who dashed into the room, carrying jugs. He cast a glance at Benjamin, but busied himself with fetching wine. With his constant scowl this young lad was a worthy replacement for Karl.

When Fritz had left, Benjamin fell back onto the straw bag and sighed with relief. From the other side of the room he heard a huff of breath as well. Mrs. Sommer sat on the cot, glancing at the door. Turning back, she noticed that Benjamin had pushed himself up, too.

Carefully, as not to disturb her children, she rose. One of the children whimpered, but she shushed at the girl. “All is well, mummy will be right back.”

With that she sneaked over to Benjamin. “Was the surgeon right?” she whispered.

Benjamin nodded. What could he tell her? Don’t you worry, for a change you won’t take the brunt of it?

“Thank God!” she sighed. She sat down on the edge of the bed.

Benjamin frowned. He knew he shouldn’t touch a woman nor should he allow a woman to touch him. While he had never felt the urge to do so before, he had never regarded women as much of a danger. But since he had met Madame Clara … He flinched when she put her hand onto his forehead, feeling for the fever.

“Get well soon,” she whispered and rose. “I’ll pray for you.”

Benjamin bit his lower lip. _As if it helps!_ But she meant well. He envied her children when she climbed back onto the cot, gathering the girls in her arms.

The only one who would take him into _his_ arms ... No, he didn’t want to think about it! He still heard von Innow snarl: _Maybe I’ll fuck you when I’m done with beating you. What else are you good for? Nothing!_ __

Benjamin curled up under the blankets, moaning with misery. What would his own mother say if she saw him right now?

_No, don’t even think about her!_

How had he indulged on his way through Saxony in the imagination how he would return home one day and tell his family about his time as member of the Emperor’s army! Maybe even his father would respect him then – after their nasty falling-out about the wine trade with the Swedish garrison in Mainz. Now there was nothing left to brag about. Other men might tell heroic stories about receiving their scars, his wound would only remind him of his shame.

Even if the captain had branded him like he had done with his good-for-nothing servant Alexander – the pain could get worse, his shame, however, could not.

 _If I died right now_ , Benjamin thought, fighting sleep. _They could say, our son went to the war and was killed for Our Lord’s cause. Father Andreas would certainly say a mass for me. And maybe Our Lord will have mercy with me and spare me hell, because I’m innocent in this. I might have desired sin once, but, please Lord, you know I do not desire it anymore. Please take me. Just take me and let me rest._

 

*** 

 

The ground rocked under him like on the Day of Judgement. Out of the dark, a growling beast grabbed him, attacking his fortress of blankets.

Benjamin yelped with terror. The redcoats!

But no! He wasn't squirming in mud, but it was blankets he was tangled up in.

Not the redcoats then!

The heretic!

Now he would get raped again!

He tried to fight, but first he had to wriggle his way out of the layers of heavy fabric.

A voice slurred “Damn, lemme have one offe blankits, will ya…” and his bedding was tugged and torn at.

“NO!” But then Benjamin saw Mrs. Sommer stir, just a few steps away. _Lord, she mustn’t witness … not this!_ _Face the wall and don’t say a word …_ Benjamin bit down on the knuckles of his hand.

The blankets went one by one. But the heretic didn’t grab him.

There was a lot of wriggling and grunting next to him, then von Innow had wrapped himself in the blankets and his breathing evened out.

Wide awake, Benjamin stared into the darkness. He waited, timidly listening to the captain’s breathing, but his own panicky gasps were much louder in the darkness.

Finally von Innow started to snore.

_Thank God!_

It hadn’t happened. _He’s already too drunk…_

Benjamin sighed with relief. _Praise be to the Lord!_

But after some time his relief gave way to discomfort, because he was getting cold. Until half an hour ago he had rested comfortably under a pile of seven blankets. Now he had only two left, and it was freezing cold in the room. For a moment Benjamin wondered how Mrs. Sommer fared with only one blanket, but she and the girls were fully dressed in their winter clothes, whereas he was forced to sleep in the nude.

But the last thing he would do was to crawl under the captain’s blankets!

 _You bastard!_ Benjamin ranted in silence at the heretic. _Not enough that you had to beat me, scared me all night long with raping me, and now … now you’ll make me freeze to death!_

‘Well, didn’t you just wish to die anyway?’ his own devil said.

Benjamin gritted his teeth. _Not from a miserable fever! Not in a heretic’s bed! A murderer of priests! Lord! He had a right to beat me for stealing, but this … How could I ever like him! Not that I really liked him, I mean …_

He tugged at the remaining blankets trying to lock the cold air out.

_So fucking cold!_

He tried to curl up, but it didn’t help much. It was mid-November, winter had come early this year, and if there once had been a stove in this room, the Imperials had walked off with it.

‘Funny isn’t it?’ the devil quipped. ‘Your own army causes you harm in every possible way: raping you, forgetting you at the miller’s house, and stealing the stove you need.’

 _Oh shut up!_ Benjamin thought. _If that heretic just gave me some blankets I’d be fine enough._

‘Come on, sleeping back to back and partaking of his body heat won’t be a sin. Just a means of survival. Of course you would save your Order some money if they didn’t have to pay ransom for you, but honestly: would you like to die here? Without last rites? Without the sacrament of penance? Among heretics? This one won’t call a priest for you, and in case he does, he’ll probably kill him out of pure evilness! You have to survive! Just to get out of here!’

As often Benjamin despised his inner voice, as often this devil had reasonable ideas. What was dying good for when nobody noticed his martyrdom – or cared for it? The heretic would probably have buried him in a shallow grave next to the gallows, and if his brethren never learnt of his fate how should they say a mass for him?

He wouldn’t touch the heretic for any sinful purpose, no way. But he had to survive to fight heresy.

Carefully, Benjamin started worming towards the place where the heavy body dented the mattress. Every time there was a catch in the snoring, Benjamin froze with terror, but luckily the noise went on each time, loud and steady.

 _There!_ Benjamin allowed himself a moment of triumph when he reached von Innow’s pile of blankets.

That had to suffice. He would so not crawl into that viper’s nest!

At least his back was warmer now. But still he was far from comfortable.

_It has to suffice! The bastard stole the blankets on purpose, just to tempt me to come to him!_

Benjamin hugged himself. Certainly it was freezing outdoors. It there had been a wash basin in the room (but of course there wasn’t) the water in it would probably freeze tonight.

_I have a fever, damn! Yes, I know you could have thrown me into the dungeon just as well, but if you take me to your bed, then keep me warm for heaven’s sake!_

He turned and started to pick at the captain’s blankets. Crawling under one or two would keep him sufficiently warm.

 _There’s no need to touch the man himself._ He almost gagged when he remembered the captain tainting him with his semen. _No, sharing the blankets is just a means to an end, and that is survival!_

The blasted heretic, however, had wrapped himself thoroughly into the fabric.

Benjamin tugged.

A grunt answered the action, and Benjamin’s heart sank right to the boots he was not wearing.

But he was lucky: after a few moments the captain’s buzz returned to the old rhythm. But still he lay with his full weight on the covers.

Benjamin pulled harder now.

_Hand over a blanket, will you!_

Von Innow didn’t move.

Annoyance provided him with bravery enough to punch the captain in the back. At first, it had no more result than a raspy growl followed by an especially loud grunt.

 _Lord, what have I done that_ _I have Saint Anthony’s pig as a bedfellow!_ Miserably, Benjamin was about to roll over again and to press his back against von Innow’s pile of bedding.

But suddenly, the other man woke up with a start.

_May you dream of your eternity in hell already!_

Von Innow pushed away the blankets and got up in an unholy haste. Barefoot and clad only in his shirt he swayed to the door. Benjamin heard the sound of the front door and then some miserable retching in the yard.

 _Catching a fox already?_ Benjamin pulled all the blankets over him, and over his ears on top of that. The last thing he needed was that swine next to him stinking of vomit!

It took some time until the captain returned. Exhausted he dropped onto the edge of the bed, crawled onto the mattress with a groan.

“Now look at this!” Benjamin heard him mutter. “Again the clergy takes it all!”

 _Oh yes! And the clergy is determined to keep what it has taken!_ Benjamin clawed the hem of the blankets and held on.

But instead of pulling off the covers von Innow joined his prisoner under them. Huddling close to Benjamin, he sighed “Damn, I’m getting too old for this crap.”

Probably he meant drinking, certainly not molesting innocent clergymen. For that he did. An arm sneaked below Benjamin, and another one grabbed him from above, and then the captain hugged him close, shivering himself with the cold of the night air he had carried inside.

Benjamin held the corner of the blanket that made a cowl for him in a death grip. No need to smell the foul breath of his bedfellow. But the heretic seemed satisfied just to have a place under the blankets and someone to cling to. Soon he started to snore again.

‘There. At least you can’t complain about a lack of shared body heat anymore!’ the devil quipped.

 _No._ Benjamin shuddered. _At least I’m warm. And there’s still a blanket between us. The joys of sleeping in the pigsty! Better than in a dungeon after all … Lord, get me out of here! Send Wallenstein back with whatever reserves he can rally, and free me. Everybody says that he has warehouses full of arms on his estates. Certainly he has some more cannons._

Seeking comfort in thinking about cannons and the glaring strategist he had spotted before the battle, Benjamin allowed his eyes to droop shut.

# Chapter 18

The cannons roared, spitting iron and fire.

On the battlefield, Benjamin ran for his life. But the gunners were out to kill him. Fired at a flat angle, the cannon balls jumped from the ground like flat stones thrown onto a pond.  Ricocheting, they came after him like a hunting pack.

Benjamin ran. For cover. Right back to the miller’s house. “Don’t shoot!” he shouted at the lined-up musketeers. But they gave fire. Salvo after salvo. Lead balls burnt their way through his chest and belly.

Screaming he went down. He fell among the wounded. Bleeding men beckoned him to join them on the Day of Judgement, pulled him into a wet, red embrace. He fought against blood-smeared hands. But he was wrestled down, held down, fucked. Blood on him, in him, all over.

“Wake up, boy, for heaven’s sake!”

A woman’s voice. Shrill with fear. Something rough hit him on the head. Repeatedly. Then he got slapped. “Wake up!”

Benjamin struggled to open his eyes. This was not the battlefield, but a dim room.

A woman loomed above him. Not his mother, a stranger. But the cannons were still roaring.

He stared at her. He knew her, had seen her before …

Mrs. Sommer, a cloth brush in her hand.  Fritz stood next to her, and there was a smaller boy, both lads gaping at him.

The next shot rang out down the street. Only one cannon at a time.

Benjamin looked around, trying to discern if he was still caught in a nightmare. But this was Mrs. Sommer and her room behind the kitchen. And yet there was the noise of heavy guns outside – and church bells.

“Is Wallenstein back?” he rasped.

“God forbid!” Mrs. Sommer called out. In a soothing voice she added. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. It’s the salute for the late King Gustavus Adolphus, his memorial service.”

Benjamin closed his eyes. He should have known. No Imperials then, just the soldiers bidding their commander farewell.  Another set of church bells chimed in. Protestants …

He flinched when a hand touched his forehead. Mrs. Sommer clicked her tongue with disapproval. When he looked up, however, he saw concern on her face. But he was too tired to wonder. He would ask later.

“Do you want to drink something?” she asked, insisting. “You must be thirsty.”

Yes, when he thought about it, he was. But sleep beckoned. He would drink later. He felt her rise from the edge of the bed. That bed. _His_ bed. Gasping with sudden terror, Benjamin turned. But the captain wasn’t there. Thank God. Now he could rest in peace.

 

*** 

 

“Burning with fever.”

“Get a physician.”

“For an Imperial?”

“Imperial or not, he’s the captain’s boy after all.”

“As if our boys weren’t good enough.”

“Come on, do you want Alexander back? This one at least keeps his trap shut.”

Something cold and wet was slapped onto his forehead. Benjamin moaned. _Leave me alone, will you!_

The blankets were torn at.

“No!” He woke with a shout, grabbing the blankets. The heretic!

But he faced a group of women instead.

“There! Awake he is!” the sergeant’s wife called out. She held a bucket and had a dish towel slung over her shoulder. Probably the wet cloth that had just fallen from his forehead was her doing too.

Mrs. Sommer stood on the other side of the bed. “He certainly needs something to drink,” she stated.

“So what!” barked one of the soldier wives. “Fetch him something to drink yourself!”

The owner of the house clenched her fists. “I would if I had a single cup left!”

“Then stop giving orders, stupid bitch, will you!”

“Shut up, Hilde!” the sergeant’s wife snapped. “Now fetch him a jug of beer! The captain will be angry if we don’t care for his boy.”

Benjamin rather wanted them to leave than to care for him. He was thirsty, but another, more urgent problem had to be dealt with first. “Where are my clothes? I’d like to get up.”

“What for? You’re not allowed to leave the bed!” Fritz said, crossing his arms in front of his chest. To Benjamin it looked like the boy’s sorry attempt to set himself up as the captain’s second-in-command.

He glared at the milksop. “I have to relieve myself, and I won’t go the privy clad in nothing but a blanket!”

“Here’s a pot.” With her foot, the sergeant’s wife pulled a chamber pot from under the bed. “Now, gals, out, and leave this gentleman to his business.”

“What’s so special about this one that he has to hide, huh?” Hilde sneered, but – thank God – they left.

Benjamin sat up and used the pot. His piss was dark and stank. Unbidden, he was reminded of his hospital duty: carrying and cleaning chamber pots for three months which had seemed to him like three years – or more. His fellow novices used to joke that if you survived this you would survive anything: be it plague, pagans, or Protestants. He also remembered the physicians holding glass vessels with the patients’ urine against the light to determine their diseases. He didn’t want to know what a doctor would read from his brew now. Disgusted, he crawled back under the blankets.

But this was one of the rare cases of poetic justice in his life: now he himself was in bed, and other people had to struggle with emptying his chamber pot. A short time later, the sergeant’s wife was back to check on the patient. She told Fritz to carry the waste away, but Fritz promptly delegated the task to the smaller boy: “Max, your turn!”

Little Max puffed himself up with a dignity worthy of an Elector and answered with the rolling ‘r’ of the Bavarians, “My orders I take from the captain, not from you!” His hasty exit, however, resembled not an Elector’s, but a common thief’s.

Fritz’s mien spoke of murder when he carried the pot outside. A few minutes later, there was a miserable screaming in the yard when Max was shown his place in the chain of command.

The Sergeant’s wife chuckled about that when she brought Benjamin a basin and a jug of water to wash his hands and his face, and when she returned for the third time she brought a jug of beer and a bowl of soup.

Benjamin had no appetite. He watched the turnip chunks drowned in the broth and felt no need to raise them from their sorry state.

The matron at his bedside frowned at him. “Now be a good boy, and eat.” She sat down on the edge of the bed and nudged his hand with the spoon. “Come on, a spoonful for mummy…”

Benjamin stared at her. He remembered himself sitting naked on the captain’s lap, being fed for the princes of the Empire. “And one for the captain?” In a fit of fury he hurled the bowl across the room, making Mrs. Sommer jump with a shriek. She hadn’t been the target however; he had not aimed at anything. The bowl shattered against the wall.

“Now that’s a right one!” the sergeant’s wife shouted and hit Benjamin on the back of his head. Hard. “If you don’t want to eat, go to hell, you cur, but don’t you waste my food!” With that she rushed from the room, barking at Mrs. Sommer, “Clean that up!”

Mrs. Sommer stared at the pieces of bowl and turnips. Then she knelt, picking up the shards and turnips. “Three days ago I would have sold my house for a bowl of soup.”

Mortified, Benjamin hid under the blankets. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, willed the tears to stay at bay. Several mortifying sobs later, he had a hick-up, and his nose started to run with snot. Disgusted with himself, all he wanted was to die.

 

*** 

 

“To the King!”

“To the King!” echoed many deep voices.

Benjamin came awake to see Captain von Innow and about a dozen men emptying their tumblers.

Now that the toast was done, they sat down wherever a place was to be found. The captain claimed one of the chairs for himself as did the sergeant, but some soldiers also sat down onto the trunk or the boxes with the books. Master Rudolf was among the captain’s guests. He used the opportunity to check up on his patient. He felt for the fever and frowned. But it didn’t seem bad enough to warrant doing something about it at once: when the captain beckoned Fritz to fill the glasses again, Master Rudolf hurried to get his share.

“What are we going to do now?” a cavalry man asked the captain. “Will the Swedes leave now that their king is dead?”

Von Innow shrugged. “I have no idea. Duke Bernhard sent couriers to the Swedish chancellor. He’s said to be in Würzburg or Frankfurt, so it’s unlikely that he knows about the battle already. In about ten days' time we should expect his orders.”

“And what do the Swedish generals say?”

Benjamin pricked up his ears. That was important information.

‘Yes, provided you can turn into a bird and fly out of the window to inform your superiors,’ his devil mocked.

“If they have a plan at all they'll hardly tell it to a lowly company head,” the captain said in the meantime. “You’ve seen them in the church: looking dumbstruck altogether. The Duke says they had all seen it coming sooner or later: for his Majesty had had such poor eyesight that he couldn’t tell a deer from a horse at shooting distance. No wonder he rode straight into a detachment of the enemy’s cuirassiers in that blasted smoke.”

The soldiers shook their heads. Some with regret, but many sneering at the stupidity of their superiors: “And no-one had the guts to tell him to stay in the second line.”

“Yes, Klein, tell a king what to do!” the sergeant mocked.

Von Innow sighed and stared into his glass.

“And that Chancellor, Oxen…whatsit?” Wagner asked.

“Oxenstierna,” the captain answered absent-mindedly.

“Is it right that he’s the ruler now? Some say the King has a son.”

“Just a natural one,” von Innow confirmed. “This young Count Gustav Gustavson who was with the army last year. But the heir to the throne is a six year old girl, and the queen is said to have no interest in politics at all.”

“But we have Duke Bernhard!” Fischer said. “I mean, the Swedes themselves, they’re only a quarter of the field army or so. Probably even less. I mean, we could continue the war, right?” He spread his hands in a helpless gesture. “I mean, they can’t send us home with just … nothing.”

Von Innow laughed out without mirth. “Of course they could. Remember how we fought for Christian of Denmark? Battle lost, war chest empty, and home rode the king, tail between his legs. May he live long, but never come back!” He raised his glass in a mock toast.

“Speaking of war chests,” Master Rudolf piped up. “Sir, we need our payment! I have to buy turpentine, quicksilver, and brandy, but the pharmacist refuses to be paid with loot. He demands thalers or guilders.”

“Speaking of war chests, my dear surgeon,” the captain replied with an edge, “Duke Bernhard assured me just yesterday that his war chest had more locks _on_ it than thalers _in_ it.” Annoyed, he added: “All we can do is to sell the pistols and guns we picked up from the battlefield. But as was to be expected, prices are down at the moment, and I’d rather keep the pistols to equip new riders.”

“... just in case Duke Bernhard’s war chest suddenly contains money enough to enlist new cavalry men,” the surgeon stated, contempt in his voice. “What a wondrous war chest, one could think it bewitched!”

Von Innow glared at him. “I won’t have such talk about Duke Bernhard, is that understood!”

“Of course, Sir,” Master Rudolf replied smoothly and turned his attention to his drink.

The captain contemplated his own glass, frowning. “How urgently do you need these ingredients?” he asked then.

“Very urgently,” Master Rudolf said, hanging his head.

“All right,” the captain looked around for his new servant. “Fritz, fetch us an iron from the kitchen.”

“Uh, what iron, Sir?” The boy put down the jug with the wine. His grumbling appearance had changed into diligence now that the captain was present.

“A poker or crowbar, to open these boxes,” Von Innow pointed at the chests with the looted books.

It took only a few minutes, and to Benjamin’s dismay the boards were levered up from the first box. Leather-bound tomes were stacked onto the table.

“Find one a pharmacist might be interested in or something that sells elsewhere,” the captain told Master Rudolf. To his riders he said: “Now, gentlemen: on horseback! I won’t have either you or our horses growing stiff from lazing around.”

The soldiers downed their drinks. They grumbled and moaned that they liked the idea of lazing around very much. Leaving the room, they called for their horse boys to get their mounts ready.

“Sir, who’ll ride the swag horses?” Fritz said, almost bouncing. “May I take one? They need the exercise, too.”

“Yes, take one, but get my grey one ready first!” von Innow laughed. Then he turned to Master Rudolf and had a look at the books the surgeon leafed through. “Is there anything useful to be found?”

“I’ll try this one,” Master Rudolf said, and Benjamin pushed himself up on his elbows and craned his neck, but couldn’t discern what kind of book it might be. A quarto, and the leather of its cover looked rather new.

Von Innow turned. He had noticed the movement behind him.

 _No!_ Benjamin dropped back onto his mattress. The last thing he needed was the heretic’s attention now that he felt so weak. He pulled up the blankets to his chin. Maybe he could feign that he had just turned in his sleep.

The captain’s curiosity, however, seemed wide awake now.

Von Innow sat down on the edge of the mattress. The heretic looked exhausted, and Benjamin wondered if von Innow’s red eyes were the result of a hangover or if the man had actually cried for the late King of Sweden – or for his own dwindling opportunity of raiding Catholic countries.

The captain gave him a tired smile. “Well, how’s my treacherous Jesuit today – apart from sending innocent soup bowls to hell?”

 _Damn!_ So the cook had complained already! Benjamin felt too tired to answer the jibe. Too tired to frown even. He heaved an unhappy sigh. This much he could do. He squeezed his eyes shut however, when von Innow stretched out his hand to feel for the fever.

That big paw seemed to cup his whole head. When von Innow moved his hand, he ran it down the side of Benjamin’s face. His thumb stroked Benjamin’s cheek. The one with the witch mark.

 _Don’t_. Benjamin turned his face to the other side. Now he was frowning.

“Aw, little one,” von Innow said, and Benjamin wished to choke him for the concern in his voice. “How am I supposed to exchange you for ransom when you have a fever like this?”

 _Ransom?_ Benjamin looked up.

“You would exchange me?” he rasped, to make sure that he had understood correctly. Or was he mocked by a fever dream?

“Well, you didn’t value my hospitality last time, so I’d better not take risks again,” von Innow said, shrugging.

 _Thank God!_ Benjamin sighed with relief.

The captain nodded and sighed as well. But he looked disappointed. Rising, he said: “As soon as you’re able to travel, I’ll send word to Leipzig. They say that Wallenstein left his wounded in the city. So there should be some of your brethren to be found.”

Benjamin didn’t dare to nod. _Don’t give the heretics the opportunity to hunt us down._ Instead he said “Thank you.” And he meant it. With all his heart.

Von Innow nodded and left the room. To Benjamin, he looked defeated. But perhaps he was just hung-over.

 _Lord, thank you! Thank you!_ Benjamin crossed himself and folded his hands to say a proper prayer.

“It’s not nice to look so god-damn pleased at the prospect of leaving us,” a mocking voice said. Master Rudolf.

To his chagrin, Benjamin realized that he had paid no attention to the surgeon’s presence.

“It’s all right,” the surgeon soothed him, grinning. He looked into the jar the sergeant’s wife had left on the chair next to Benjamin’s bed. “Ah, beer. Now, boy, let’s nurse you back to health with some liquid bread.”

This time, Benjamin took the offered sustenance with pleasure. The beer was cold enough to cool his sore throat, and just now that he was drinking he realized how parched he had been. He downed a second tumbler.

From the yard there was the sound of many hooves, leaving.

With relief, Benjamin filled his third glass himself. He wasn’t that weak.

Master Rudolf nodded with a pleased smile. “All right, I see you’ll cope by yourself.” He rose and spoke across the room: “Supply this young gentleman with as much beer as he can drink. All I want him to do is either sleep or drink.”

“And pissing like a horse!” a petulant voice piped with a rolling ‘r’.

“You said it.” Master Rudolf chuckled. He took the book he had chosen for sale and left the room.

 _Ask him what title he had chosen?_ Dismayed, Benjamin watched the door closing. This book was lost, and he feared much more tomes would follow before there would be any negotiations about his ransom – and the treasure of a Bavarian monastery’s library.

From the corner of the room, Max appeared at his bedside. “The devil may take you!” he stated, stuck out his tongue to Benjamin and fled the room.

Benjamin chuckled, but started when he heard a snort behind him.

He rolled onto his side and craned his neck to have a look who was left. Mrs. Sommer. She sat in the corner and mended one of the captain’s jackets. She gave Benjamin a weary smile and cast her eyes down at her work again. To Benjamin she looked more like a sad ghost, cursed to haunt her own house, than like the prosperous owner of it.

Benjamin huddled into his blankets. Sleeping … And as far as ‘pissing like a horse’ was concerned, he could always empty the chamber pot himself – out of the window. Hopefully hitting someone who really deserved it. Wondering whether this someone should be a certain captain or rather a certain Bavarian horse boy, Benjamin drifted into slumber. A certain mean major got a place on his list of possible targets as well. Fritz too, for his grumpiness. Plus – just in the unlikely case he was brave enough to do covert reconnaissance in a hostile town – Father Johannes Bruckmann. Benjamin fell asleep with a smile on his face.

 

*** 

 

Benjamin was a good patient, doing exactly what the surgeon expected from him: sleeping, drinking – but using the chamber pot only on occasion, because by now he was sweating like a horse. Usually, the first task for him upon waking from his slumber was to stack the innermost blanket on top of the heap and let it dry.

Sleeping had become much easier now that he knew the captain would let him go. Drowsily he imagined how relieved Father Michael would be when they would meet in Leipzig, and he said a prayer for the friendly Austrian who had vanished into the battle.

 _Good Lord, please take care of him!_ Benjamin added before he gave in into weariness again.

When he woke up next time, it was due to a big paw digging under his head. With a yelp he came awake, almost jumping out of the bed.

“Whoa, easy, lad,” a low voice said, and Benjamin knew exactly whose voice it was. He blinked disoriented into a single candle’s light: so it was night already.

Von Innow, stripped down to his shirt, sat on the other edge of the bed and replaced the blanket that had been under Benjamin’s head so far with a real pillow: a big bag of smooth linen stuffed with downs.

“Have a try.” Von Innow dropped into the pillow, moaning with delight when he sank into the mellow cushion. “Ah, yes! Much better!”

Benjamin, however, smelled a rat. Or at least a Captain von Innow who was _not_ drunken tonight.

“Oh, come on,” the captain cooed. “Now be a good Christian and share the blankets. You don’t want the one freeze to death who just brought you such a fine pillow, do you?”

With an angry grunt Benjamin pulled at his shield of blankets. Tonight he felt hot enough to forgo one blanket or two.

Von Innow, however, looted the whole stack but one. He spread them over himself and held them open for Benjamin.

_Damn you, damn you, damn you in eternity!_

Benjamin cast a glance over his shoulder. Mrs. Sommer and her children huddled on their makeshift bed already, whispering under more blankets than they had yesterday. One girl tittered. “But, Mum, wolves don’t wear nightcaps!”

Moving closer, Benjamin glared at the heretic. _You bastard do remember last night, don’t you? Me miserably crawling under your blankets, thinking you wouldn’t notice …_

He clenched his fists when von Innow’s arm sneaked around him as the captain pretended to cover his prisoner as well. Covered him and tucked him in, in fact. But forgot to take his hand away, squeezing Benjamin’s shoulder lightly.

“I trust your honour not to molest me when there’s a lady present!” Benjamin hissed under his breath, hoping that Mrs. Sommer wouldn’t notice.

“I won’t molest you at all,” von Innow replied in an equally low voice, his voice earnest. “I know how much an inconsiderate lover can hurt in this respect, and I dare not imagine what you have been through.”

Benjamin stared at him in disbelief. _Inconsiderate lover? Don’t you dare compare your sinful ways to my martyrdom!_ He brushed von Innow’s hand from his shoulder and tried to stay away as far from the heretic as possible. It was only one or two inches' distance, but at least he wasn’t forced to touch the sinner’s body. He glared at von Innow: “I don’t need to be reminded nor to be comforted, thank you very much!”

The captain sighed and turned his back to him. He blew out the candle and huddled into the pillow. “Good night to you too, Father Benjamin. Enjoy the down.”

Benjamin frowned, wondering if the captain was hinting at his bad fortune or just meant the feathers in his pillow. Was he supposed to thank the heretic for the pillow? Did he want to know where the pillow was from? Stolen or exchanged for another robbed book?

‘Perhaps he’s just going to make himself at home here for the winter,’ his own devil suggested. ‘And most certainly he’s waiting for a thank-you. That wouldn’t hurt so much as a night on the floor would, would it?

_The last thing I want is his attention directed at me again! I can always praise the pillow tomorrow morning._

But truth to be told: the pillow was nice, and the linen smelt fresh. This hadn’t been pulled out of a peasant’s bed and transported on horseback, this was new and fit for a gentleman. Still wary that the captain might turn again or molest him at least with godless suggestions, Benjamin let himself sink into the pillow. His thoughts drifted home, for soft cushions were not the Jesuit way. He thought of the laundry days, the covers and sheets hanging over the shrubs to bleach; summer days back home.

A sigh broke free, and he started, because the last thing he wanted was to give the captain a reason to ‘comfort’ him.

Damn. This would be a long night.

 

*** 

 

A hit, a kick, and Benjamin came awake, disoriented in darkness. And with aching ribs. Next to him, Captain von Innow struggled with the blankets and sat up, gasping. “God!”

Now, that was a change: the heretic calling for the Lord! Grumpily, Benjamin wondered if he was still dreaming. No, the pain felt too real.

Von Innow dropped back into the pillow, managing to fall right next to Benjamin. Benjamin couldn’t help but grunt with protest.

“Sorry,” the captain murmured. “Soldier’s habit, fighting one’s battles again at night. Did I punch you?”

“Quite thoroughly, thank you very much,” Benjamin muttered, hugging his ribs.

“Didn’t mean to.” Von Innow huffed out a breath, another one. He was wheezing as if he had fought for real.

Benjamin wondered if the captain also dreamt of firing musketeer squads. Or perhaps of falling with his horse and being run over by his whole company.

But then the heretic ended his musings by grabbing him, hugging him close. Benjamin yelped when von Innow touched his wounded arm. It hurt so badly that tears stung in his eyes. But he didn’t care much for this pain: the mere idea of being pulled back against the heretic’s groin, his cock to be precise, made Benjamin’s heart race with fear. The redcoats had grabbed him as well.

If it hadn’t been for Mrs. Sommer and her daughters he would have screamed. For help, with fury, he didn’t know how, but now he gritted his teeth: _Say no word …_

Hissing and kicking, he wriggled until he lay on his back to protect his bottom. With his good arm he tried to punch the captain. But his wrist got caught in a big paw, and he ended up in von Innow’s arms, the heretic resting at his side.

“Shh, little one.” With his thumb, von Innow rubbed Benjamin’s wrist. “It’s all right. I won’t hurt you. But don’t begrudge an old warhorse a cuddle after a nightmare.”

 _If you were a horse, I’d shoot you!_ Benjamin raged in silence. His mind’s eye surprised him with the imagination of a rather big, bony horse, slightly greying in the face like old horses do. It was trudging behind him, carrying in Sophia’s place the bags with the leaflets that had brought him such trouble. For such an animal he would feel pity, but for Captain von Innow himself?

No pity at all, but Benjamin felt something close to relief when he realized that the allegedly smug Swede was far from sleeping the sleep of the just. Served him right! Father Andreas came to his mind: _Finding out the other one’s weaknesses is necessary – either to help them if they are on our side or to destroy them if they are our enemies._

But what could he gain from the realization that Captain von Innow had nightmares? Or that he talked sweetly to him now while he had threatened to rape Benjamin the other day?

That he was still in the captain's favour. That he wouldn’t be raped tonight, even if he hadn’t escaped the groping. But as far as the groping went, it wasn’t that sinful at the moment: the captain’s big paws were holding his arm and his other shoulder respectively, and otherwise the man lay still: no attempt to grind against his hip as he had done when he had Benjamin bound on his bed a few days ago.

Benjamin allowed his arm to relax, even if the heretic still held him. He let his hand drop to his chest.

This earned him a softly spoken “There”, and a kiss was pressed to his hair.

Benjamin clenched his fist and growled a warning.

The captain nuzzled his hair and relaxed then with a satisfied sigh, obviously content with just holding him.

 _Well, what kind of tactics is that now?_ Benjamin frowned. And he frowned about the fact that the captain’s thumb rubbed the back of his hand in tender strokes. This was not decent. He turned his own hand, grabbed that thumb and held it a tight grip.

Von Innow chuckled against Benjamin’s hair and used his fingers then to stroke the Jesuit’s hand. Benjamin snorted. How childish was that? And yet, it was much better that being thrown over a table, being beaten and having the cheeks of his ass spread to be inspected –  or to be fucked.

Benjamin shuddered. Unbidden, the redcoats were back. He still hurt. He still heard their laughter, the jibes in a language he didn’t understand. The pain made his guts cramp, he remembered too well how their cocks had impaled him. The fear of dying from the pain alone – or of being killed later. The humiliation that would never wash off even if the body would heal and the bruises would fade.

He groaned with anguish, let go of von Innow’s hand and tossed and turned to escape his embrace. To his surprise, the heretic let go of him. With a few inches distance, Benjamin wrapped himself into a blanket, disgusted at the thought of touching the captain’s skin.

“You can trust my word, you know,” a disappointed voice rumbled next to him.

 _Yes, and I’m the treacherous bastard who should be grateful to get groped by you, because he could rot in the dungeon as well!_ Benjamin clenched his teeth. But he felt that for his own safety he owed the captain a friendlier answer. “Being touched like this reminds me of the redcoats. I’m sorry.” The tone of his own voice seemed too brusque to himself, but von Innow just sighed.

There was a rustle on the straw bag and in the blankets when the heretic huddled into it, but the man stayed where he was. “I could teach you to fight,” he said then in a sincere voice, “to ride a horse, to fight with pistols and a sword so that you wouldn’t fall victim to anybody so easily again.”

Now that was an offer! Benjamin was silent with surprise. But certainly the heretic would expect him to share his bed in the meantime?

And would he have escaped the redcoats if he had been a cuirassier? Not in the way things had gone wrong: when Isolani had ignored him, when Madame Clara had picked him up just to molest him and had told her bodyguards then to rape him.

No, he had been unarmed then, and no man could fight a dozen enemies at a time. Von Innow probably meant well, and being able to fight with more than just fists would be useful – but it would also mean he would become part of the Swedish army: of the heretics who were tearing the Empire apart in their godless insurrection.

Benjamin shook his head. No, he could not do this: leaving the Order, breaking his oaths. Even if he was no fully fledged Jesuit yet, he was a soldier of the Lord. He lived to end the heretics’ uprising, not to become part of it! Even if he saw himself unfit to become a priest – if he wanted to chose a soldier’s career, he should return to the right army first.

“Your offer honours me, Captain von Innow,” he said, carefully choosing his words. “But I’d rather take you up on your word that you want to exchange me for ransom.”

A disappointed snort was his first answer.

“Ransom it is, then.” The captain moved in the blankets, and from his voice Benjamin understood that von Innow had turned his back to him. “But don’t expect me to sell you at a low price.”

# Chapter 19

“Come, Jesus Christ, be our guest and bless what you have bestowed upon us. Amen.”

A table prayer, said in Mrs. Sommer’s Saxon dialect, wasn’t the worst thing to wake up to. Benjamin rubbed his eyes and stretched under the blankets, careful not to groan aloud.

Around the table on the other side of the room there sat a family, eating their breakfast soup. At the second glance the domestic scene revealed Captain von Innow and his horse boys as well as Mrs. Sommer and her daughters.

Funny how respectable the captain could look when he was not claiming, at the very same table, prisoners “for dessert”.

Von Innow looked up and turned to Benjamin with a smile: “Ah, he is awake. Fritz, get us another bowl from the kitchen.”

The boy hastily drank the soup from his plate with a slurp before he stood up. Mrs. Sommer’s older daughter imitated his soldierly behaviour, but got slapped on the nape of her neck by her scandalized mother: “Elizabeth!”

“But Fritz did this too!”

“Yes, but Fritz is a…” Mrs. Sommer searched for proper words to express her indignation. Her wary glance at the captain betrayed that she was about to insult the whole Swedish army.

“Fritz is a poor example for young ladies,” Captain von Innow ended her conflict in a diplomatic tone of voice. Then he stood up, leaving his meal half-eaten, and went to Benjamin.

“How do you feel today?” He sat down onto the bed.

Well, how did he feel? Benjamin shrugged. Leaden. Bleary-eyed. But his stomach rumbled, noticing the smell of the rich soup.

“Don’t you worry, we’ll get you fed,” von Innow said with a broad grin and felt for Benjamin’s fever. Sobering, he murmured, “Hmm, it seems to get better, though you’re still quite hot.”

Benjamin nodded. But when he swallowed his throat hurt less than yesterday. So there was progress.

Fritz returned with a bowl of soup and a slice of bread. The captain held out his hands and took the bowl from the boy. Fritz darted back to the table where Mrs. Sommer dealt out a second serving of bread.

Von Innow stirred the soup, and his lopsided grin gave away the next jibe. “Can I trust you with my crockery this time?” The Swede raised a full spoon as if he were about to feed Benjamin again.

“I’m a shining example for young ladies, trust me,” Benjamin said wryly. But there was another thing to be dealt with first: “May I have my clothes back? I’d really like to…” He pointed at the door and pulled a face, hoping the heretic would understand that he had to relieve himself first.

“Of course,” von Innow said. “Fritz, bring Benjamin’s clothes.”

An exasperated moan was the answer and a chair was pushed back with vigour.

“They’ll probably still be wet,” Mrs. Sommer spoke up. Seeing Benjamin’s puzzled face, she added, “I washed them as Captain von Innow ordered, but it’s not the weather to dry your linen in one day.”

In the end, Benjamin wriggled into one of von Innow’s shirts under the blankets. The captain’s jacket hung down over his fingers like his oversized alb had done, and when he put on the captain’s black breeches, they went to mid-calf. At least the shoes had escaped the laundry order and were his own.

The heretic scrutinized him with a smitten grin, like a father who had caught his little son trying on his own finery.

Benjamin almost waited for a bad joke along the lines of “When you’re all grown up…”, but von Innow snapped his fingers and said, “Fritz, show Benjamin to the privy.”

“Hell and damnation, why can’t Max…” the youth grumbled.

“Listen, young man!” the captain thundered at him, “When I say you’ll go then it’s your sorry self who moves, is that understood! And if you want to become my servant at all you’ll better stop this bleating right now!”

Ducking his head like everybody else in the room, Fritz hurried to the door, summoning Benjamin.

Leaving, Benjamin heard Max object in a small voice, “But Master Karl cursed all day long…”

The captain’s answer he didn’t understand anymore, but it was uttered in a calm voice as if the man hadn’t just roared like lion one moment before.

 

*** 

 

Back in the Jesuit college in Mainz, hiding in the privy had been the only opportunity to have some time alone and mull things over. But getting up and leaving the house now had been a bad idea, Benjamin realized soon. He felt lightheaded, and the air outside was biting cold and wet. Fog hung over the city, worsened by the smoke of many more cooking fires started with wet wood. The yard of Mrs. Sommer’s house was stuffed with wagons, make-shift stables for the horses and tents of train followers, and the street in front of the yard was congested by patrols, carts and street traders heading for the market place. A peasant woman with a pannier on her back held a stalk of cabbage like a sceptre and called: “Fine cabbage, fine swedes! Fine cabbage, fine swedes!” Benjamin couldn’t discern her swedes, but the cabbage looked rather yellow. After her, a man offered candles: “See your honey in the dark!”

A pair of piebald oxen followed, their freight of herring casks discernible even for Benjamin’s stuffed nose. Their driver swore madly, just to be replaced by a vendor with an oversized ruff and a golden chain who offered from his cart “The best theriac in the whole Empire: heals snake bites as well as bites from rabid dogs! Fat from poor souls: cures every broken bone and bruise! New in my range of goods – and only in mine: weapon ointment! Just rub it onto the blade that wounded you and your wound will heal in no time! Tried and tested a thousand times!”

Fritz stopped to gape at the quack, but Benjamin had already located the booth next to the pig sty and set out on it. It was locked from the inside, and together with an awful stench a stream of curses and snarling flowed from it.

Benjamin decided that he didn’t need the privy at the moment: so much for hiding somewhere to have a look at his bruises. Relieving himself against the stable wall was luckily sufficient this morning. He washed his hands and face in a water-butt at the wall of the house and cast another glance at the crowded street: if he wanted to run, the captain and his riders would have a hard time following him through that crowd. The trades people and the carters didn’t care much for the patrols’ “Make way there!”, and a team of two horses or oxen blocked the width of this lane.

At the moment, however, Benjamin just yearned to return to the warmth of his bed. It was too early for escape. But as Captain von Innow had said, it was all about reconnaissance …

 

*** 

 

Back in the house, the breakfast table was already cleared, and Mrs. Sommer and her girls had gone. Fritz stayed in the kitchen, rubbing his hands near the fireplace and grumbling of murder. Cold as well, Benjamin was eager to return under the blankets, but he stopped in the doorway of his room: Captain von Innow sat on the bed, his feet in woollen socks propped up onto the blankets. He looked up from a stack of paper and patted the covers. “Freezing on the spot won’t do you good, little one. Come here, I’ll behave.”

“For how long?” Benjamin muttered under his breath. But there was no reasonable option to stay somewhere else. If he wanted to return to his brethren, he needed to get well. Frowning he went to the bed and took off the captain’s breeches and jacket. But he kept the shirt for modesty and hurried to slip under the blankets.

His breakfast soup was still waiting for him, closely guarded by Max. When Benjamin took the bowl and the spoon the little boy stomped out of the room with a disappointed scowl.

It was the same turnips as yesterday, but enriched with chunks of sausage. The bread that came with it was rye, but of a fine quality: the advantages of an officer’s table.

“Enjoy your meal.”

Casting the captain a wary glance, Benjamin said his own prayer and started to eat. The heretic busied himself again with the stack of paper. Which was, as Benjamin realized, his unbound book about agriculture with the naked Fortuna on the front page.

Von Innow browsed a later chapter. He started to read, frowned, skipped a page or two, read on and pursed his lips, clearly nor satisfied with what he found.

Though the farming books had been nothing but camouflage for his leaflets, Benjamin felt irritated by the fact that a thing an agent of his Order had provided left something to be desired. A sidelong glance showed him that the captain was studying the chapter about horse diseases.

Benjamin took his time consuming his meal, wiping the bowl with the last chunk of bread. He wouldn’t have minded a second serving, but restraint was a virtue, and he wouldn’t ask for more. He put the bowl onto the chair where his beer jug sat and huddled into the blankets then, covering even his arms and shoulders.

The captain was still reading – and still disgruntled with what he found.

 _Is this just a trick?_ Benjamin wondered. _To make me ask what’s wrong about it?_

But he realized that it was also an opportunity: making the captain talk about one book might make him talk about the other ones, the sacred ones.

“You don’t seem to find this book useful,” he ventured. “What’s wrong with it?”

“The sad thing about writers is that most of them just chew over their predecessors’ works, which is sadly the case here,” von Innow stated. “Many of the recipes the author offers I recognize, but most of them are useless.”

“That’s bad,” Benjamin conceded, remembering that this book had saved his neck – because the captain hoped for a means to heal horses.

“Well, at least this author admits, after giving several tried and tested recipes, that the glanders is ‘almost’ incurable. As if I didn’t know that before…”

Benjamin nodded. He felt tempted to apologise for having carried useless books around. Von Innow continued to browse the stacks of pages. Wondering how to point the heretic’s interest to the ecclesiastic books in the boxes, Benjamin gazed at the man’s profile: his sloped forehead, his oddly healed nose, his short-cut moustache and his lips which silently formed the words of his reading.

Frowning in concentration, von Innow licked the corner of his mouth, but this tiny gesture suddenly reminded Benjamin of other things these lips had done to him. Kissed him – down there. Sucked him. That memory made his stomach flutter – and more so: it also caused a stir in his groin. A feeling he had hoped the redcoats had eradicated once and for all.

Hastily he crossed himself.

Von Innow looked up. “Is something wrong?”

Benjamin shook his head with vigour. “No! I was just wondering …”

He was a bad liar. The mocking way in which the captain raised his eyebrows made it clear. “Yes?”

“Karl once mentioned,” Benjamin opted for the only sensible topic he could think of right now, “that your father lost his estate due to books and that you want to buy it back with them.” He pointed at the boxes with the captain’s loot.

 _Dear Lord_ , _help me not to muck this up!_ “I was wondering if you would be inclined to make them part of the negotiations on my ransom.”

“And that’s why you crossed yourself as if seeing the devil walking right in on us?” von Innow quipped. But his smile turned into a sad one soon. “That old gossip-monger was right,” he said in a fond voice, collecting the stacks of folded pages and gazing at the Fortuna then.

“My father – though being a nobleman and owning a large estate – fancied himself a scholar,” von Innow continued in a pensive voice. “But I think he was more a collector of books who enjoyed being admired for the sheer size of his library. I never cared for books, but I know that they cost a lot because my old man almost ruined our estate with his sundry expenses. And when Wallenstein came to Mecklenburg four years ago, my father had neither money enough left to pay the contribution to Wallenstein’s war chest nor was he willing to sell a part of his collection to raise that money. In the end, Wallenstein gave the estate to one of his cronies. When we finally freed our duchy, that man ran like a hare, but before that he burned down the estate, and the library with that. My father died from a stroke the very next day, and Konrad, my oldest brother – the devil may take him –, had nothing better to do than to sell the land to a neighbour instead of rebuilding the manor.”

“And you would like to buy that land and rebuild it?” Benjamin asked, determined to concentrate on his negotiations and nothing else. To stay away from any sinful notions he also gazed at the Fortuna. She was quite voluptuous, but wouldn’t tempt him.

“Yes, of course!” von Innow admitted so passionately that Benjamin thought about Father Andreas’ speech about exploring weaknesses. “This estate belonged to my family for almost three hundred years. That’s nothing that you give away just so.” Von Innow snapped his fingers. “But there’s not much sense in buying land as long as the war isn’t over.”

“Because Wallenstein might return,” Benjamin concluded.

“God forbid!” the heretic growled.

“But didn’t you consider selling these books for convenience?” Benjamin asked. “A sack load of thalers would be easier to carry than all these boxes.”

“Of course.” Von Innow looked up with a smile. “A whole ‘sack load’ of thalers? What you’re up to, Father Benjamin?”

“Don’t call me that! I’m no priest yet. I’m just asking you, humbly, to give my brethren the opportunity to buy these books back,” Benjamin said, trying sincerely to sound humble. “King Gustavus Adolphus has already whisked away the libraries of the Archbishop of Mainz and the Prince Bishop of Würzburg. But what will become of the Empire if everything is carried to foreign countries?”

“I’ll bet a lot of people would say ‘thank God we’re rid of that Catholic stuff’,” von Innow teased.

“This is not just ‘Catholic stuff’!” Benjamin said with vigour. “Monasteries keep bibles und scriptures of the church fathers. These are our common past, Captain, our history, not just scribbled-on parchment!”

Von Innow raised a hand. “Calm yourself, Benjamin. I’m not a barbarian, and I know that you’re right about this. But you will certainly understand that I’ll offer these books to my superiors first before I’ll sell them to the Jesuits and show my loyalty in a false light.”

Benjamin drew a deep breath. _Calm yourself._ The captain’s statement was already a great concession.

“Thank you,” he said. But he couldn’t help adding: “But in case you’ll have to deal with these Swedish scholars the King brought with him to assess the art treasures of the conquered towns, please think of it that they’re loyal only to the Swedish exchequer …”

“As are the Jesuits to the Vatican’s treasury,” von Innow interrupted him in an amiable voice. “I see. I better find myself a more neutral expert first.”

Benjamin frowned. Who would that be? A protestant preacher? One of those who dared call themselves doctors of theology? Or a book trader? While the first would certainly take the captain for a ride, the second couldn’t be trusted either.

Experts! Benjamin bit his lower lip not to snort with disgust. In Mainz, these Swedish scholars had plundered not only the Archbishop’s palace, but every monastery and every house whose inhabitants had fled the city out of fear of persecution for being Catholic. Everything of value from these buildings had been shipped to Sweden: for while the late Swedish king glorified himself to the Protestants as their liberator and protector he was nothing but a robber in very great style.

And should he tell von Innow about the impudent ”contributions” that this king had put upon Mainz? Certainly there was nothing of such worth to find in the whole of that damned traitor duchy Mecklenburg: In order to prevent their town from being looted, the citizens who had bravely stayed in Mainz were supposed to pay eighty thousand thalers, the Catholic clergymen also eighty thousand and the Jews twenty thousand. As far as Benjamin knew the Jews were the only ones who had paid their share so far, but what did that count in the light of that utter and utmost impudence that the goddamned Swedes demanded half of the clergymen’s share from the Jesuits alone!

Benjamin started when von Innow touched his shoulder: “Stop brooding, Benjamin. I don’t want any hatchlings in my bed.”

 _Huh?_ Benjamin frowned at the grinning heretic. In his mind’s eye suddenly chirping chicks crawled from under his blankets, and he unclenched his fists and let out a breath he had held without noticing it. His own devil made the imagined chicks wear tiny birettas in order to make them a gaggle of true Jesuit hatchlings. Benjamin clasped his hand over his mouth to stop himself from laughing out.

“What is it?” von Innow wanted to know, the skin around his eyes crinkling with mirth.

Benjamin shook his head.

“What is it?” Laughing, the heretic leant over to him.

Too close. All his glee gone, Benjamin jerked backwards.

Von Innow sobered.

“Well,” he said, not hiding his disappointment when he returned to his place. “I bet all you would hatch would be a priest’s pigeons: ‘caw, caw’.” With that, he resumed reading.

Benjamin was not thinking of fluffy chicks anymore. He tried to calm himself, his racing heart and his gasping. Too close. The Captain had leant over as if to embrace him, or to play-fight as close friends did.

But they were not friends. _This is the enemy_ , Benjamin told himself. _It is fortunate that he is willing to sell me … us his books. But he is still the enemy. Never forget that: a murderer of priests._

The heretic looked up: “Try taking a nap, Benjamin. You need to recover first. Then we’ll deal with the ransom and the books.”

 

*** 

 

“Hell and damnation, Innow! If I want to be fussed over I have my servants and my mistress to do that!”

Benjamin woke up to see Captain Winter glare at Captain von Innow. The latter held a folded blanket in his hands. Behind Captain Winter stood a man in the drab garb of a servant and rolled his eyes.

“This was not about fussing in the least. I’m just pretending not to live in a mendicant’s way,” von Innow said in good spirits, folding the blanket into a cushion for the chair he offered the other officer. Winter sat down, muttering under his breath. He wore one arm in a sling and his face had an ashen shade.

“Max! Where are you, lad?” von Innow called. “Get us wine, and, Mrs. Sommer, see what there is to be found in the kitchen for a late lunch.” Then he sat down himself. In a serious voice he said, “Honestly, Winter, if I had a broken arm I’d lie in bed, indulging in good care and self-pity. But I feel honoured that you pay me a visit.”

“You wouldn’t have a gaggle of servants around you quarrelling all day long about said care. And I’d rather treat my pain with that wine of yours than with the stuff my surgeon feeds me,” Winter said with audible exhaustion.

His mien brightened when his tumbler was filled with the strong red wine.

“To health,” von Innow raised his glass.

 

 

(The elegant way to raise your glass in the early 17th century)

 

“To health,” Winter echoed, less enthusiastic. Benjamin felt for him.

Scrutinizing von Innow from head to toe, Winter asked with audible envy, “You came back unscathed, didn’t you?”

“Black and blue and hurting everywhere,” von Innow pointed at the suture on his jaw line and knocked on wood then, “but Fortuna was on my side this time. May we never fall out of her favour!” The Captains raised their glasses again.

 _Fortuna! The devil has helped you!_ Benjamin thought. _But of course you won’t raise a toast to this benefactor’s health!_

Mrs. Sommer returned with bread and soup. Winter waved his hand in a dismissive way when she put a plate in front of him. But when Mrs. Sommer left the room he looked after her, twirling his moustache. “Who’s that?” he asked as soon as the woman had left the room.

“The widow Sommer, the owner of this house,” von Innow said, a grin spreading over his face. “Tell me, if I tried my luck as matchmaker, would that end up an everlasting spring or a good harvest?”

Captain Winter rolled his eyes. “Cut these foul jokes about my name, Innow!” After a while of frowning into his glass and another swing he asked, “Does she have money?”

“I don’t know. Her house was thoroughly looted when we moved in here,” von Innow shrugged. “But you'd better ask her yourself.”

Winter nodded, but it was obvious that he was busy pondering other things than a possibly rich match. Much more inconvenient affairs.

Von Innow filled his comrade’s glass for a second time: “Out with it, my friend. I can tell from your scowl that you didn’t leave your bed just for my wine. What’s the matter?”

“It’s about that servant of yours, Alexander.”

“Ex-servant.”

“Whatever. I’m going to have him hanged.”

# Chapter 20

Von Innow stared at his comrade as if punched into the guts. “You are going to do what?”

“I’ll have him hanged for murder,” Winter explained. “When Alexander heard that my lieutenant was killed in battle he claimed the lieutenant’s belongings. But there was still the lieutenant’s man-servant … In a word, they fought. First with words, then with knives, and now there’s a good servant dead and your boy in the dungeon.”

Von Innow moaned and shook this head. “That blasted little idiot!”

Winter took a swig from his wine, not inclined to object in the least.

“What do you expect me to do?” von Innow asked. He pushed back the chair and got to his feet.

“Nothing.”

“Then why did you have to tell me!” Von Innow went to the door, but returned, pacing.

Winter watched his comrade’s restless steps. “I think I know you well enough to tell that you would hold it against me if I created a _fait accompli_ , wouldn’t you?”

Von Innow stopped in front of him, his shoulders sagging. “Right.”

“There. And I don’t want any trouble with a comrade I value, not over such a gallows bird.”

Von Innow nodded. “It’s just …”

“It’s just that you were so smitten with a handsome lad that you didn’t realize for a long time how much this brat walked all over you,” Winter said in a cold voice. “I don’t know how you keep your men under control, but I would lose authority if I let that bastard get away with murder.”

“He wasn’t guilty of murder so far,” von Innow said in a weak voice. “That is, as far as my company and their train followers were concerned. As for looting peasants, that’s another story.”

“You could have done something about it.”

“In a time when we’re told to leave no stone standing in the enemy’s country and when we have to feed off our own allies’ lands as if we were the foe ourselves?” von Innow sneered. He went to the window and rested his hands onto the window-sill, fighting for breath like a suffocating man. “You have no idea how sick it makes me!”

“Trust me, I do.” Winter contemplated his wine. “But the times are like that, and all we can do is to see that we don’t get run over ourselves, but make money enough to retire in style.”

Von Innow snorted. “Great. I bet Alexander would agree with you.”

“Then he shouldn’t have acted that stupid,” Winter said with contempt. “There were witnesses enough who watched it happen.”

“Shit.” Von Innow hung his head.

For a while, none of them spoke. Winter drank more wine, probably hoping to drink himself into a painless stupor ‘in style’. But it was he who spoke up after some time. “Come on, Innow, don’t take this affair to heart. You were glad to be rid of him finally, that boy spoke with nothing but scorn of your attempts to ‘change him for the better’, and you have a new one already, so what the hell!”

“A new one?” von Innow turned, frowning at Benjamin, who was scrutinized by Winter with derision. “Oh no. Benjamin is just here to cure his fever before I’ll exchange him for ransom.”

Seeing Winter’s smirk, von Innow added: “Unlike Alexander, this one despised me right from the beginning!”

“Remembering your table manners, I can’t hold that against him,” Winter chuckled, and Benjamin grinned at that.

“Well really, Winter! That’s …” But von Innow stopped and turned to the window again. “What the heck is this!”

Winter craned his neck, but had no better view than Benjamin from his bed. “What’s the matter?”

“Hassfurt just rode into the yard,” von Innow said with disdain, “together with the quartermaster and the provost: the whole unholy trinity. And obviously interested in my grey charger, that bastard!”

 

*** 

 

When Major von Hassfurt had himself announced by his servant a few minutes later, he was not only in the company of said quartermaster and the provost, but also introduced a young man in a black velvet doublet.

“This is Mister Kaufmann the Younger, a grain trader from Naumburg,” the major snarled instead of a greeting. “Is it right that you ordered fifty hundredweights of oats from his company?”

Provost and quartermaster stared at von Innow in a hostile way while the merchant cast anxious glances at the major. Young Kaufmann was a chubby blond in his late twenties with a rosy complexion and a neatly trimmed beard. Benjamin wondered if his own older brother who would inherit the Kennebergs’ wine trade one day had also already grown such a respectable paunch as this fellow.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen, first and foremost,” Captain von Innow said, his usually smug self again. “It’s great that you finally found the way to Weissenfels, Mister Kaufmann. Please take a seat, gentlemen. Max, bring more wine.”

“I asked you a question, Captain,” Major von Hassfurt snapped. “And a simple enough one at that!”

Von Innow frowned at his superior. “Yes, I ordered the oats, Sir.”

“Ignoring me and the quartermaster!”

Von Innow sighed, not hiding his annoyance in the least. “Sir, you will remember that after our arrival at Naumburg I asked you and the quartermaster for fodder supply for my company’s horses. The quartermaster’s answer was that he couldn’t conjure up what Wallenstein’s foragers had already looted, and your answer, Sir, was – if I remember correctly – ‘To hell with your horses, I’m busy’.”

From the major’s and the quartermaster’s faces Benjamin deduced that the captain spoke truth.

“Therefore I searched for oats myself,” Captain von Innow continued. “The villages were indeed all looted, our sutlers asked extortionate prices for poor quality, so I went to Naumburg and was lucky to find Mister Kaufmann’s company.”

“And who is supposed to pay these fifty hundredweights!” Major von Hassfurt glared at his subordinate.

“Well, I am of course.” Von Innow shrugged.

“From your own pay?” the quartermaster asked with a wary note in his voice.

“I wouldn’t dare order anything on your expense, quartermaster,” von Innow said so wryly that Benjamin waited for a snide remark about wondrous war chests to follow.

The quartermaster and the major looked at each other, obviously baffled.

“Let me get this clear.” Major von Hassfurt squinted his eyes, scrutinizing his subordinate from head to toe. “You bought fodder for your company’s horses from your own pocket?”

“That’s right, Sir,” von Innow conceded with a smile.

“I’ll be damned!” the major laughed. “The regiment needs more officers like you, Innow!”

Captain Winter hung his head with a groan.

“Well, now that this is settled, what about a glass of wine while I have a look at the oats,” von Innow suggested, summoning Max who held a jug at the ready. “You delivered the oats already, Mister Kaufmann, I suppose?”

“The carts are in the street,” the merchant nodded. Pulling a face as if he had a bad tooth, he added, “Unfortunately, concerning the price, well, you know how prices climb these days, and our middleman…”

“First I’ll have a look at the grain, then we talk about guilders.”

As a good host, von Innow waited until the merchant had got a glass of wine. Kaufmann took a cautions sip and looked at the captain with pleased surprise. “Where did you get this wine?”

“Trust me, you won’t find any more of it there,” von Innow said.

“Ah, well.” The merchant seemed to have a clear idea of looting troops. Perhaps that was the reason why he looked so uncomfortable in the presence of several officers. He gulped down the wine and offered the captain to have a look at the grain then.

Major von Hassfurt stalked after them with a sour mien. To Benjamin, he looked like a raven who had found the gallows empty for once.

The provost and the quartermaster, however, slumped into the chairs at the table and summoned Max to refill their tumblers.

The provost, now that no law enforcer was needed, seemed especially cheerful. Stretching out his legs and scratching the floor with his spurs by that, he chuckled, “Buying supplies on his own expense! How many bullets hit this fellow’s helmet?”

“You’re talking about an officer!” Winter reprimanded him in a stern voice.

“Officer or not, that’s not normal!” the quartermaster stated.

“That’s what I told him.” Winter summoned Max for more wine. “But he was concerned that Wallenstein might attack and find his men and horses weak with hunger, that’s all.”

Seeing the quartermaster scrutinizing him in a pensive way, Winter added with vigour, “Don’t expect any of these follies from me! It is your task to care for the provisions, not mine!”

 

***

 

“I’m sorry, Captain, but my company doesn’t deal in books.” The merchant’s voice announced the return of von Innow, von Hassfurt and Kaufmann the Younger.

“Oh, you haven’t seen these books yet.” This was von Innow’s voice, and at the next moment the three men entered the room. “They come from a rich abbey, and my surgeon exchanged just one of them for a complete supply of drugs at the pharmacist’s – imagine that! And we’re just talking about a difference of 20 guilders here!”

Twenty guilders – even if the captain made it sound like that – was no chickenfeed. Benjamin had bought his mule for ten, which was also a common price for a cow. In the Emperor’s army a sergeant of the infantry would get a salary of twenty one guilders per month – if he got it, but Benjamin supposed that now, with Wallenstein back as the head of the army, the Imperial soldiers would get paid more regularly.

While the merchant pulled a face, Captain von Innow went to the open box and took a big tome from the stack. “Just look at this!” He opened the book. “The _Legenda Aurea_. With lots of illustrations.”

“That’s Catholic fairy tales!” the major snapped. “Listen, Mister Kaufmann,” he addressed the merchant in a reasonable voice. “Let’s not waste your precious time here just because Captain von Innow is too short of cash to keep up with the price rise: I’ll buy the whole consignment for good Rhenish guilders, no trouble with barter involved, agreed?”

Kaufmann nodded eagerly.

“Wait!” von Innow called. With three long strides he was at the table. “Winter, could you lend me …”, but the other Captain raised his good hand: “Leave me out of this, Innow, I’m broke as well.”

Major von Hassfurt shone with satisfaction. Snapping his fingers, he summoned the quartermaster. “48 guilders for Mister Kaufmann, with receipt, and have the oats unloaded in my yard. All of them.”

The quartermaster was on his feet immediately, ushering the merchant out of the room.

“Wait, Sir!” Von Innow called. “28 guilders I can pay as was agreed upon, and it’s my deal after all!”

With the quartermaster’s hand on his back, Kaufmann the Younger just had time to raise his hat in greeting, then he was gone.

“It was your deal, Innow!” the major said in a cold voice. “It _was_. And don’t you ever cross my authority again with doing business, is that understood!”

“No, it is not! Whether I buy myself oats or a new lace collar, that’s none of _your_ business!”

“It becomes _my_ business as soon as one of my subordinates tries to take meagre supplies right from under my nose, buying them or not! The whole regiment needs fodder, not just the few nags of yours! So you will wait for your ration as does everybody else!”

“As I have been waiting for my pay for the last three months, like my soldiers! And what a great business you made withholding the pay, now that most of my men are dead!” Captain von Innow barked, looking as if he wished to swat the major with the big tome he still held in his hands.

Confronted with the seething captain, the major cast a checking glance at the provost. Benjamin was sure that everybody else in the room – just in case the captain would strike out – was ready to swear that the Lord himself had laid the major low with a book that had suddenly fallen from heaven.

But with the provost as witness, the major crossed his arms in front of his chest and smirked. In an amiable voice he said, “Of course, if you want to make me an offer due to, let’s say, urgent circumstances, I could agree to an exception.”

“With a certain price rise, I presume?” the captain snorted.

“I see we understand each other.”

Von Innow scrutinized his superior in silence for a very long minute. “Well, how many hundredweights would my twenty eight guilders buy then?” he asked, not hiding his disgust.

“Ah, guilders!” the major said with a dismissive gesture. “Keep the coins for the merchants. You’ve got a grey horse in your stable…”

Von Innow laughed out. “You’re not serious! That charger is worth a thousand guilders at least!”

“What’s a starved horse worth?” the major shrugged.

“Forget about it!” von Innow hissed.

“Well, have it your way.” Von Hassfurt turned and went to the door. The provost hurried to follow him. At the door, however, the major stopped. Not bothering to turn, he asked, “Isn’t that servant of yours in the dungeon?”

“I'm not missing a servant,” von Innow said in a cold voice.

“No?” Now the major turned his head to look at von Innow. “A young man called Alexander. I used to think he was a valet of yours, and an especially valued one, at that.” Casting Benjamin a meaningful glance, the major added, “But I see you found a substitute already … and this one a Popish priestling, well, well. So am I right if I presume that you’re not willing to spare your former catamite the gallows?”

Von Innow clenched his hands into fists. With barely suppressed fury he said, “Captain Winter informed me that Alexander is accused of murder. But he left my service several days before the battle, and no, I won’t interfere with justice just to provide you with another horse! And I challenge you to go down to the yard and prove if you’re as fast with the rapier as with insults!”

“You forget your place, Captain, challenging a superior!” But the sharp tone of voice didn’t come easily to von Hassfurt this time. “The war articles forbid duels! I could arrest you for the challenge alone!” But for some reason he didn’t, but left the house with long strides.

“Bastard!” von Innow hissed.

“Yes, a bastard with quivering heart, lungs, and liver,” Winter agreed. “But the more dangerous so.”

“Ah, to hell with him!” With the same vigour with which he would have fought against the major, von Innow flung the book onto the bed.

“Ow!” Benjamin blurted when the lives of all venerable saints heavily landed on his knees.

“Consider giving him that horse,” Winter recommended. “Together with more or less sincere apologies for challenging him … Let me finish, Innow. You know how the Duke despises duels. And von Hassfurt outright hates you.”

“That man is a god-damned coward, and since I told him so at the battle at Nuremberg he holds a grudge against me!”

“Told him so? You roared over half of the battlefield!” Winter grinned, but sobered immediately. “You’re right, my friend, he is a coward. You are completely right in this. But to have the major of the regiment against you, with all his administration authority, will leave you with nothing.”

Winter raised a hand to stop von Innow’s next outburst. “Plus, the major will preside over the trial against Alexander, and as you know there are several ways to execute a man for murder. One nastier than the other. I know it’s a good horse, I bet it’s even a thoroughbred Neapolitan, but honestly, it is about time for horse-trading. Not so much on Alexander’s behalf – though that’s a good pretence – but on your own.”

Von Innow shook his head. “I will not grovel before that cur!”

“Then talk to the Duke!” Winter insisted.

Von Innow moaned. “I have to think this over,” he muttered and started to pace. After he had crossed the room three times, he flung the door open. “Fritz! Saddle my horse!”

“So what are you going to do?” Winter asked.

“Go for a ride. I can’t think in this … box!” Von Innow gestured at the room in general, grabbed his hat and coat. “Stay as long as you like, Winter. And, Max, in case Captain Winter leaves before I’m back you’ll give his servant two jugs of wine to take with him.”

With that von Innow fled the room, leaving a baffled Captain Winter behind. A few moments later the sound of hooves was to be heard on the yard and then Innow’s furious “Make way there!” when he rode into the crowded street.

“Well…” Captain Winter emptied his glass. “I think I’m supposed to leave.”

“It’s much warmer in our house anyway,” his servant agreed, rubbing his upper arms.

It took Max only a moment to fill the jugs, and he left together with Winter and his servant.

Suddenly Benjamin was alone in the room. Not that the minded the fact itself, but after all the quarrelling, the silence was odd. He drank a glass of beer now that he was no longer required to stay as unobtrusive as possible. Then he opened the book with the _Legenda Aurea_ , a collection of the Saints’ life histories. It was written by hand and illustrated in such a delicate, beautiful way that Benjamin shook his head about the captain’s folly to offer this book for a few sack loads of oats. With books like this – sold to a man who knew to value them – von Innow could buy himself a stable full of Neapolitan chargers, and a big stable full by that. But could he tell that to the captain?

No, Benjamin decided. If the captain knew the true value of this treasure his own brethren would lose an obscene amount of money to buy the books. No, let him think it’s just a heap of ‘Catholic fairy tales’ that he can exchange at the price of an average horse – or another fifty hundredweights of oats.

To his own surprise, Benjamin felt not smug, but bad when he thought about leaving the captain in the dark about the value of his loot. But unlike the major, he didn’t do it for his own war chest, but for the Jesuits’, and by that for the greater glory of God.

# Chapter 21

When Captain von Innow returned at nightfall, he trailed snow inside. Melting flakes dripped from his hat and coat. He threw his hat onto the table and flung the coat over the nearest chair. Having done this, he stared into empty space, looking none the wiser.

The sergeant came in, asked what the major’s visit had been about, and both cavalry men went to the kitchen. Through the half-open door Benjamin heard them talk, but with all the noise the women made while working he couldn’t discern the words.

Benjamin turned the next page of the legend of Saint Catherine of Alexandria and read on. Mrs. Sommer had provided him with a candle at dusk, and Benjamin wondered what he had done to deserve this preferential treatment. When her girls had asked him to read them a story, however, Mrs. Sommer had ushered them out of the room: “This is nothing for good Christians!”

Remembering her indignant exclamation, Benjamin shook his head again. Admittedly, the Legenda Aurea was full of exaggerations, and the heretics had thoroughly used it as a source to mock the veneration of the saints. Because of that, a few years ago a group of Jesuits had started researching the historical truth behind the legends to publish a new, scientific description of the lives of the saints. But Benjamin had grown up with all the colourful tales, and somehow he doubted that he would like the new version better. What would his brethren find out about his favourite miracle in this legend: how the spiked wheels that were meant to execute Catherine were destroyed by an angel with such vigour that four thousand pagans got killed by the splinters? Had it been just four pagans? Or none? Benjamin doubted that this quest for truth would make his Order any more popular within the Holy Mother Church.

 

***

 

Von Innow returned after a while with Mrs. Sommer in tow. She carried a dish and a plate and laid the table for the captain. The soup she served smelled good; Benjamin’s stomach started to rumble. But the captain slowly stirred his soup like a fortune-teller staring into a dish full of water.

Mrs. Sommer hovered next to the table, fidgeting, but it took a while before von Innow looked up at her, scowling: “What’s the matter?”

“I’d like to ask you about the officer who visited you earlier today.” Mrs. Sommer was audibly embarrassed. “He gave me such an odd look, and now the soldiers' wives say his servant asked about my station.”

Von Innow snorted, his scowl vanishing. “Captain Winter. Well, he’s looking for a wife: if you’re not interested in his advances just tell him that you have no money.”

“Does he have money?”

Von Innow shrugged. “Today he pretended to be too broke to lend me twenty guilders.”

Mrs. Sommer hung her head. “I wonder…” she started, but returned to fidgeting instead of finishing her sentence.

The Captain frowned at her. “Take a seat, Madam, instead of stepping from one foot to the other like a weaving horse. There. Now, what are you wondering about?”

“I know it’s not my station to ask you,” the widow began, weaving her fingers now. “But I wondered if you would be interested in putting some money into my trade. We are carpenters, and I still hold my late husband’s place in the guild. But all my wood is gone now – now that the castle’s roof is burned to ashes! For a carpenter … to rebuild such a roof, that’s the thing we dream about! And it would be a great business, as well, because our Duke, Elector Johann Georg, won’t leave his family’s ancestral seat in ruins.”

Von Innow stared at her dumbfounded. Then he scoffed, but it was more a bark than laughter. “Madam, I have set too many roofs on fire to regard them as a great business these days. I’m sorry.”

Mrs. Sommer hung her head. “Well, at least that’s a straightforward answer…”

For a while there was silence. Mrs. Sommer contemplated her white knuckles, while the captain stared at his soup.

“Can’t your guild lend you some money?” he finally asked.

Mrs. Sommer shook her head. “They won’t. I spent most of the day negotiating, but I got the impression that they’re looking forward to getting rid of a competitor.” She sighed. “Misery! If I can’t raise the money to continue my business, I’ll be reduced to beggary.” With a sad snort she added, “Well, I’m begging already.”

“You still have the house,” von Innow said, reaching out and covering her hands with his big paw. “Look, Madam, my property consists of exactly twenty-eight guilders and twelve pence, plus a sick Jesuit stripling and a few boxes of books of unknown value. And if I get a good ransom for the boy and if the books sell, I’ll have to buy horses and some new cuirass parts. If I come along with just one horse and bullet holes in my breast-plate no man of worth will join my company when we’ll enlist soldiers in spring.”

“So you don’t think of retirement?” she asked. “Your soldiers are all talking as if the war was over.”

“As they do after every battle.” Von Innow pulled his hand away and sat back.

Mrs. Sommer looked disappointed, but mortified as well. Forcing her gaze away from the officer, she cast a glance at Benjamin.

Benjamin hurried to pretend that he was still reading, but she had caught him staring. Holding hands with the captain! He felt his cheeks getting hot, but not from the fever.

But he couldn’t concentrate on a single word any longer when he heard her say: “Our deacon is renowned as a bookworm. I could ask him to have a look at your books, to give you an idea of their value, if you don’t mind.”

 _No!_ Benjamin clutched the Legenda Aurea and glared at Mrs. Sommer. _Don’t you dare!_

But von Innow said, “That would be most welcome, Madam.”

 

***

 

 _May the devil take that woman, and her deacon as well!_ Benjamin was furious. The last thing he needed was someone telling the captain that he would be rid of his dreadful financial state as the minute he sold this copy of the Legenda to a passionate collector of books!

Shortly after her dreadful offer, Mrs. Sommer left the room, and the captain cast a glance at Benjamin: “Hungry?”

Benjamin nodded, and von Innow carried his plate over to him. He handed Benjamin plate and spoon and went to his casks. He filled a jug with wine. So there would be another night of heavy drinking. Benjamin was about to admonish the heretic that wine wouldn’t make things any better, but his little devil said: ‘Do that, and take another thrashing or a vile remark. You have the soup, why care whether he drinks himself into a stupor?”

Again, Benjamin had to admit that his devil had sound common sense.

Von Innow filled a tumbler with wine and sat heavily onto the edge of the mattress. He took a swig, but even his good wine didn’t seem to please him.

After staring a while into his glass, he suddenly said, “I talked with the witnesses. Alexander had stabbed the other man before he could produce his knife at all. It was cold-blooded murder.”

Benjamin looked up from his lentils. _No wonder, considering how that bastard was about to attack me with a knife – though I was bound._

He couldn’t bring himself to feel any pity for Alexander's fate, but the captain obviously took it to heart. Benjamin wondered why: the officer had let his servant go with a sneer, and he had told Winter’s lieutenant that he was glad to be rid of Alexander.

“I always told him he would end this way if he didn’t learn to rein in his temper,” von Innow sighed.

 _Then why the heck do you care!_ Benjamin cast the heretic a wary glance, but turned his attention back to his food.

“If I had the slightest hope that he would learn something from it …” the captain went on and took another swig. When Benjamin looked up, von Innow gazed at him as if expecting an answer. Benjamin felt annoyed. What was von Innow aiming at? Spiritual support?

_If you want to stay in his favour you'd better not tell him that his bastard of a servant only gets what he deserves…_

“I take it he’s still in prison, then?” Benjamin asked carefully.

Von Innow nodded. “The provost preferred to spend his time at my table, it seems.”

“And you want to save your former servant despite his crime?”

“No.” Von Innow shook his head. “That is, I’d like to if I had a glimmer of hope that he would mend his ways. But he would probably moan about why it took me so long.” He rolled his glass between his palms. “And yet… Hell, I once really cared for him, you know.”

 _I can imagine exactly how you did, thank you very much!_ But Benjamin schooled his mien into an impassive one. Was he meant to hear the captain’s confession now? He rather hoped not.

The heretic seemed to wait for an answer, but he simply nodded at von Innow to continue. The captain, however, sighed and instead continued drinking.

It must have been his own devil; where else would this sick curiosity come from? Where had von Innow had met Alexander, how had he seduced the youth, how long had they been indulging in sin?

In his mind’s eye Benjamin saw Alexander bound on the captain’s bed. But with a sick leer that mirrored the captain’s.

 _No!_ Benjamin snapped at himself. _You are not interested in any of these sordid details! You will not ask!_

He dug into his soup, frowning at himself, but his appetite was gone. He cleared the plate, but was not tempted to ask for a refill.

“Want some wine?” von Innow asked when Benjamin put his plate onto the chair that held his beer jug.

“No, thank you, I'd rather stick to my beer.”

 _What the heck am I doing?_ Benjamin wondered when he helped himself. _Exchanging pleasantries, drinking with a murderer of priests – expected to console him because the murderous bastard he raised gets what he fully deserves?_

He must have frowned thunderously. Von Innow asked, “What’s on your mind?”

 _What’s on my mind? To tell you off for your lousy self-pity! To tell you that all the suffering you feel is your just punishment!_ “Nothing.”

“Nothing …” Von Innow scrutinized him for a very long time. Then he shook his head, took another swig and put down his tumbler. When he leant over, Benjamin flinched. But the captain took the _Legenda Aurea_ that Benjamin had put aside.

_No! Take your hands off it!_

The Captain didn’t care about Benjamin’s frown any more. He opened the book and slowly leafed through it. “Please give me the candle.”

What could he do? Benjamin was tempted to let the wax drip onto the heretic’s hands, but thought better of it. Not only was it childish, it might damage the book as well. Carefully he handed the candle over.

“As the major said, it’s just ‘fairy tales’,” he said. “Our Order is already preparing a new edition that will make this book obsolete soon.”

“Really?” the captain said in a wry voice. The candle light was reflected by gold leaf.

“Plus, it is still written by hand and on parchment, at that, when everybody wants paper these days. And just look at the pictures: no copperplate prints, a rather primitive painting style without the perspective that modern artists provide.”

The captain looked up from the book with a lop-sided smile. “Benjamin, I know you despise me, but please don’t take me for an idiot.”

Benjamin heaved a sigh. His cheeks were getting hot. It was a lame excuse, but he hastily added, “I just wanted to tell you that it’s about time for a new edition.”

“This old one,” von Innow put a finger on a magnificent initial in bright colours, “looks exactly like the books my father spent a fortune on. You know, unlike the average nobleman, my father hunted for books. And presented them, like other hunters would brag about the biggest deer they bagged. That way I got to see his new acquisitions: the old books, written on parchment with lots of gold leaf, but no modern perspective were the most _expensive_ ones.”

Benjamin fought hard not to flinch when the captain looked him in the eye. “These books were the ones which made my mother swear and cry, because one by one the best horses of our stud farm were sold for my father’s folly. And this book is worth at least a dozen very fine horses.”

 _Horses! Is this all you can think about?_ Benjamin frowned. Very well, General Wallenstein was said to pay a thousand thalers – two thousand guilders – for an extraordinarily good steed. These were probably the numbers Captain von Innow was thinking in. The mere thought of horse-trading this book galled Benjamin to no end. _This is art! This should be valued for its expression of faith and beauty!_

“I bet this one is at least two hundred years old,” von Innow continued in a pensive voice. “And if I still had that golden gospel that you ‘exchanged’ for a ‘not so good horse’ – I might have had, and easily at that, the fifty thousand thalers I need to buy back my family’s land.”

 _Damn you!_ Benjamin was at a loss for words. And deeply embarrassed. His case had been just, no doubt, but nevertheless he was embarrassed. He had been stupid as well: the Lord might know what the sutler would do with the gospel. The captain, at least, had an idea of the value of a splendid codex and wouldn’t cut it to pieces.

“I’m sorry,” he managed. “All I was thinking about was your army attacking my … the Emperor’s army out of the blue.”

“I understood that.” Von Innow’s voice still betrayed a lot of anger. Suddenly, the heretic rose. “Then let’s see what else we have left …”

He carried the Legenda and the candle to the table. Then he started to browse the other books as well. He called Fritz to bring the poker, and together with the boys he opened all six boxes and sorted the books, stacking several piles onto the table.

Benjamin couldn’t stand by watching any longer: he put on his shoes, wrapped himself in three blankets and went to the table.

Fritz glared at him, but von Innow didn’t mind when Benjamin opened the books and read their titles.

Gospels, Psalters, works of the church fathers like Saint Augustine and Doctors of the Church like Saint Thomas Aquinas, Breviaries – old books: about two dozen. The other ones were printed. Many of them dealt with the threat of heresy, and the friars had also shown interest in reforming the Holy Mother Church from within. There was the Rituale Romanum with the new order for the Mass, and there were the three issues of the catechism by Petrus Canisius, the first German Jesuit and a passionate fighter both against heresy and the evils within the Church. Benjamin clung to these books as if the Lord himself had given them to him and tried to draw strength from them. He felt like raving with helpless fury. This treasure in the heretics’ hands? The mere thought of a Protestant deacon snooping around in these books was obscene – let alone allow such a person to blather about their value!

“Ah, look at this!” Von Innow whistled when checking the books from the last box. Grinning, he handed Benjamin a small printed tome. “This one you may keep.”

Benjamin cast a pointedly wary look at von Innow before opening the book. It was the _Enchiridion_ , the Small Catechism by Dr. Martin Luther. Aghast, Benjamin stared at the summary of the heretics’ teachings.

“It’s all about reconnaissance,” the captain quipped.

Benjamin didn’t feel like doing any reconnaissance. Rather like beating the captain over the head with that little book. Repeatedly and with full force. Or throwing it on the floor and stomping on it.

_How dare he!_

But then he remembered his lessons about the heretics’ impudence and how one had to treat them with patience as long as one couldn’t force them to return to the true faith. And he remembered that the venerable Father Canisius had studied the heresies in detail to refute them all.

Gritting his teeth, Benjamin turned to the table and took the _Parvus catechismus catholicorum_ , the Small Catechism by Petrus Canisius, from the stack.

He held out the catechism of the true faith to the heretic: “For every page you’ll read of this, I’ll read a page of your catechism.”

Von Innow took the book, read the title and grinned. “I’m game. Don’t expect me to convert, but we’ll have lots of stuff to argue about.” With a wink he added, “And I'd love to hear you argue.”

“Very well!” Benjamin growled. How sick was that man that even the prospect of a theological dispute sounded lecherous from his mouth!

Clutching the _Enchiridion_ like an enemy he was about to strangle, Benjamin returned to bed and dug himself into his sanctuary of blankets. He dropped the heretics’ catechism onto the floor: _May it rest there next to the chamber pot!_

Thinking of the chamber pot unintentionally reminded him of his own animal nature. It hadn’t been a bright idea to drink beer all afternoon long and then shovel lentils later. There was a rumble in his guts now that was not caused by anger or at least not by anger alone, and Benjamin realized that he had to do something about it.

Swearing under his breath, he got up again and put on his shoes. Von Innow looked up from a print he was studying with interest. Benjamin would have wagered his own father’s house that the captain’s reading matter had something to do with horses.

“I’ve got to go to the privy,” Benjamin reported, and right: again he was provided with the captain’s coat and Fritz’ grumpy presence.

 

***

 

Darkness and sleet had reduced the stream of traders on the street to a trickle. Citizens hurried home, soldiers headed for the inns. If one wanted to run …

But Benjamin’s thoughts were directed at the shabby extension of the stable. Soon he sat on the cold wood, cringing with pain when every barely healed scrap of tissue seemed to break anew.

_Holy Mother of God, how I am to bear this every time I have to shit!_

And in the back of his mind the redcoats were back, gathering in the yard, ready to fuck him and kick him in the guts again.

 _It’s just riders!_ Benjamin told himself, hissing between sobs of pain. _Just some of the captain’s riders! Nobody will allow the redcoats into the city! You’re safe! The captain may be a savage and a sodomite, but he didn’t …_

“Hey, how long are you going to make me wait!” Fritz rapped the door.

“Till the cows come home!” _Or some patrol…_

Moaning, Benjamin got up. There was no need to make the fever worse by lingering in the freezing cold. He had nothing but a handful of leaves to clean himself with, and he didn’t even try to discern if there was blood on them.

Shuddering with disgust, Benjamin left the privy. In front of the house two horses and four soldiers with halberds were waiting. The door stood ajar, and Benjamin could make out some more newcomers in the kitchen.

This didn’t bode well: either the duke himself had come along and these men were a bodyguard on foot – what Benjamin doubted due to their shabby appearance – or the provost was back and had brought his men.

“I have to wash my hands,” Benjamin muttered and left the path that led directly to the stairs. The water-butt stood in the shadows, and he had the distinct feeling that he should wait out this visit there.

From inside the house, he heard a familiar voice roar: “What do you think you’re doing! That Jesuit is _my_ prisoner!”

Benjamin stood glued to the spot.

‘Run!’ His devil shrieked.

It wasn’t the provost, but Major von Hassfurt who appeared on top of the steps: “Search the house and the yard! A thaler for the man who finds the Papist spy!”

The men with the halberds trotted to the stairs, but Fritz grabbed Benjamin’s coat and yelled: “He’s here! I’ve got him!”

# Chapter 22

Benjamin whirled around and punched Fritz on the nose. The boy stumbled, fell to his knees, but latched onto Benjamin’s legs with the fierce determination of a hunting dog.

“Bastard!” Benjamin fell as well, flat into the mud. Kicking, he tried to get rid of the boy. Why on earth did this little idiot go against the captain’s – his master’s – wishes! And for one meagre piece of silver at that!

Hampered by the heavy coat, he rolled to his side, struggling with the fabric. As soon as his right arm was free, he landed a heavy blow on Fritz’ head. The boy went limp, but too late: Men with halberds surrounded him, and a blade poked into his shoulder.

“Surrender!”

Benjamin dropped to his back and raised his hands. “Quarter!”

“On your belly! Hands behind your back!”

Benjamin obeyed. What else could he do? A hemp rope bit into his wrists.

They pulled him on his feet, frogmarched him up the stairs and into the house. The Captain’s coat hung from his shoulder, dripping with mud, and for a moment of madness Benjamin was most concerned that von Innow would be angry with him because he had soiled the fabric.

 

***

 

Von Innow, however, was left speechless. With his back against the wall he stared at two halberds pointing at his chest. His speechlessness wasn’t caused by fright, however, but by sheer surprise at the audacity. The very next moment the captain had regained his voice, and he roared like thunder:

“What the hell do you think you’re doing!”

This meant Major von Hassfurt and the provost.

“Uncovering a Popish conspiracy,” the provost said with a smug grin.

“Conspiracy?” von Innow barked. “Have you two birds gone mad completely?”

“What about taking two sodomites to justice then?” von Hassfurt said in a cool voice and flipped a silver coin to the soldier who had dragged Benjamin in.

Benjamin felt too scared to gloat about the fact that Fritz would go away empty-handed for his treason. Conspiracy! Sodomy! Both punishable by death. He cast a helpless glance at von Innow who glared at his superior with utmost contempt.

“Now that’s a proper plan, I must say! How long did it take the two of you to come up with that? First trying to extort that horse from me with my former servant, and now this insolence!”

But to Benjamin’s dread, the captain seemed to be scared as well – at least if the dropped volume of his voice was anything to go by.

“Don’t you dare accuse me of extortion, Innow!” the major spat, pointing at Benjamin. “We found that bastard in your bed! A Jesuit! These bellows of the devil are the lowest traitors and persecutors of Christ! Anyone who trusts these devils is out of his mind! Anyone who doesn’t hate them, does not love God! And anyone who even gets involved with them will be forfeited to eternal damnation in the sulphurous pit!”

“You saddled me with that boy after all!” von Innow spat.

“You should have hanged him!”

“I’m not in the position to allow myself such a ‘luxury’, because as you saw yourself this afternoon I’m too broke to pay even a wagonload of oats!”

The major grinned, obviously satisfied with his own business skills. “That doesn’t explain, however, why you keep him in your bed.”

“Next time when you give me a prisoner, choose one who isn’t burning with fever if you want me to lock him up in the cellar,” von Innow said in a cold voice.

“So you’re the good Samaritan?” the major sneered. “How nice.” To the provost’s men he said, “Bind him!”

“Sir, you will not dishonour me!” von Innow raged.

“What honour does a sodomite have anyway,” the major said, gesturing at the hesitant guards. “Hurry up!”

The guards had good reason to hesitate. As soon as the first man lowered his halberd, von Innow lashed out at the other weapon, shoving it aside. He jumped at the soldier, punched him in the face, snatched the lance and fended off the other man who was about to stab him.

“Damn you! Help them!” the major yelled at the other guards, producing his rapier: a faint hope for defence when threatened with a halberd.

But the other guards knew their job – both how to fence with a halberd and how to bring a prisoner down. Before the captain reached the major they blocked his attack, and the recovered men rained blows on him with the shafts of their weapons. Aimed both at his head and the back of his knees, von Innow had no chance to deflect them all. Protecting his head, he was on his knees the very next moment, and flat on his face the moment after that when four men held him down and bound his hands with rope as if he were a common thief, unperturbed by all the foul curses directed at them.

Seeing the major gloating, Benjamin wished to smash von Hassfurt’s face, but what could he do with his own hands bound?

The major caught his glare. “So much for help from this quarter, huh?” he sneered.

“Go to hell where you came from!” Benjamin hissed.

Facing a man of his own height and a bound one at that, the major was not afraid to strike out. Benjamin ducked, but the rapier’s guard hit his temple and made his sight grey out.

He heard von Innow roar: “You will take me to the Duke at once!”

“The Duke is having dinner with the Swedish generals. We won’t bother these gentlemen with your sordid affairs.” The major gestured at the guards to lead Benjamin away.

“I’ll have your head for this, Hassfurt!” the captain roared.

Benjamin was grabbed by two soldiers and dragged out of the room. He didn’t hear the major’s mocking answer.

The kitchen was crammed full with von Innow’s soldiers and their wives, gaping at him and the provost’s men as well as at the scandal that was happening before their ears. But to Benjamin they were only a blurred mass of faces and clothes.

The only one Benjamin recognized was Mrs. Sommer who happened to stand right at the door. She clamped her hands onto her mouth, staring at him in shock.

 

***

 

Dark streets, smaller lanes, branching off once to the right and two times to the left – this did not look at all like the part of the city where a Duke would reside.

Benjamin gulped for the cold night air, hoping to recover. His head rang from the blow. The freezing cold helped a little, kept him awake.

After the next turn, the silhouette of a tower by the town wall loomed above them. Whatever the noblemen would do to one of them, for him it was the tower. He thanked the Lord when he was dragged into a house next to it.

Inside, more guards were sitting in a well-heated room, drinking tobacco from long clay pipes. Seeing the bruise forming on the face of one of their comrades, they laughed aloud about the ‘most dangerous ghost in a nightshirt’ who was dragged in. His guard’s mood became quite foul, and the man managed to punch Benjamin several times in his back and ribs until they had made their way down the corridor. At the back of the house there was a row of heavy doors with sturdy locks on them.

The guard called for a key, and Benjamin was shoved into room number five. When the door slammed shut it became pitch-black inside. But the short moment when the door had been open had been enough to take in a small cell with nothing but a flat heap of straw and an iron ring in the wall to chain prisoners to.

There. Benjamin hung his head. _Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner!_

 

***

 

Four steps away from the door, turn. Two to the next wall, turn. Four steps, twice the sound of straw under his feet, then stone floor.

Benjamin walked, trying to keep himself warm.

‘What for?’ the devil said in a weary voice. ‘Trust me, freezing to death hurts less than getting roasted over a low heat.’

‘Shut up, shut up, shut up!’ Benjamin raged in silence. He had to think. To remember everything Father Andreas had told him once about getting caught and interrogated.

The first thing was: Trust in God. The heretics are devils, and they will behave as such. But even if they’ll torture and kill you, they can not lay hands on your soul, and you will go straight to heaven and will be seated at the right hand of Jesus Christ, our Lord.

Second: Don’t betray the Order in any way. Just admit what they can prove. Don’t give them names – not even false ones. If you get tortured, think of Jesus Christ and his suffering. Don’t betray him and his true followers. Accept your martyrdom as a way to follow our Lord.

But instead of the devil’s voice there was another one now in his head, with a northern accent: ‘You won’t become a martyr so easily, Saint Benjamin …’

No, it wouldn’t be easy, not if that nasty major had a word to say in this.

And what had the captain said? ‘Can’t allow myself the luxury’ to have him hanged!

 _Luxury!_ Benjamin snorted with fury. But maybe this was his way out of this predicament: now with their campaign at stake after the king’s death, the German insurgents within the Swedish army needed money more than ever. The captain was broke as was Duke Bernhard with his empty war chest. Perhaps money would tempt them more than the prospect of seeing another man struggling on the gallows.

All he needed was a strategy to persuade the provost that the Jesuits would pay a huge amount of money for him. Perhaps the provost would make the major see reason then. Reason in that case would certainly be another dashing charger, be it a Neapolitan or a Spanish one.

Benjamin laughed out with contempt. Avarice was one of the cardinal sins, but one he could use to his advantage.

Though he would rather see von Innow buy an impressive new horse from the ransom. Or cuirass parts. Or his family estate. For a moment Benjamin indulged in the fantasy of how he would go to Mecklenburg – after the Emperor had finally won the war – and become the priest right now in the parish where ‘his’ heretic had to go to church. And had to study Father Canisius’ catechism on top of that. Oh, he could so see von Innow’s dumbfounded face when the man recognized who the new priest was, now that the once traitorous duchy was returned to the Catholic church!

Again two steps on the straw… _No,_ Benjamin reminded himself, _daydreaming won’t take you anywhere._ What to tell the provost? How to tell it? ‘I’m just a student, a scholasticus, but my superiors will pay lots of money for me?’

‘Why?’ the provost would ask, ‘What do you know that you’re so valuable for them?’ – Trust the Protestants to try to find out by torture. Like they had done after taking away the Jesuits from Prague when their Winter King was given the crown by the Czech protestant rebels. The venerable Fathers had been taken to Amsterdam, had been locked up and tortured, and many of them had died.

No, his suggestion had to be mentioned in passing. What if he were to tell the provost about the captain’s plans? That von Innow intended to demand a high ransom – and let the provost consider it a great idea to interfere with another of von Innow’s transactions to grow rich himself.

And if the provost couldn’t either stand the thought of getting ‘involved’ with Jesuits for talking ransom, Benjamin resolved to point them to his family. Wine trade would always flourish. Rhine wine was highly valued, and perhaps the Swedes were more inclined to accept liquid pay than Catholic coins. Benjamin could easily image how his own father would shout at him for ruining the family. But better to bear his father’s wrath than to have one’s bones dislocated or being whipped to the blood or tortured with a pair of red-hot pliers.

‘You’ll be lucky if it stays at that if they interrogate you about sodomy as well,’ his devil said, sounding subdued himself.

Benjamin wished he could hug himself against the shiver that ran down his spine. But with his hands bound, all he could do was walk faster.

He remembered Bruckmann – once back in Mainz – bragging about his latest findings about witch trials and interrogations. Of course none of the students of the College was allowed to witness such an interrogation, and yet a sick curiosity had enthralled them all. And trust Bruckmann to be the best-informed one when it came to torture.

‘There’s a thing they call the pear,’ he had told a rapt audience of younger pupils. ‘Really, it’s shaped like a pear, but made of metal, and they stuff it into their throat or cunt. But that pear has a mechanism inside, a thread, and there’s a screw at the end where a real pear has its stem, and when you tighten the screw, the pear opens like a flower with three petals.’ He had demonstrated it, first putting all his fingers together against the thumb and spreading his fingers wide then. ‘And at the place where at a real pear are the remnants of the blossom that metal pear has a spine. But that spine opens too with the petals, and when the pear is wide open, it’ll cut through all the flesh inside. And then, when it’s all open, the hangman will tear it out of the body, cutting all and everything. They use it on buggers, too.’

With that he had cast Benjamin a meaningful look. Like many of his school mates, Bruckmann had believed that Benjamin had informed on Thomas and David out of jealousy and not in a moment of confused shock.

Benjamin still remembered the awkward situation: the comrades noticing that look and its aim. The spiteful faces turned at him. His own shock at the idea to have such a vicious device stuffed into his arse. He might have been a virgin until von Innow and the redcoats caught him, but he knew back then what buggery meant, just as well as everybody did.

Or he had thought he knew … His guts cramped at the mere thought of the pain he had suffered, and he stopped walking and pressed his forehead against the wall, gasping.

_Not this. Not this again!_

He wanted to clutch his belly, but the rope wouldn’t yield and tore into his wrists. In his mind’s eye he saw the old surgeon frown at him. ‘Did they use any instruments to penetrate you?’

No. And yet it had hurt so much.

‘…Chances are good that only your anus is torn and not your bowels.’

Benjamin groaned in anguish. _Lord, spare me that! Please don’t let that happen! I’ll go gladly to the stake or the gallows and die for my belief if you spare me this! I swear!_

 

***

 

Steps on the stone floor and the creaking of the lock roused him from his prayers.

“Stand clear of the door!”

Benjamin looked up, disorientated. The door must be over there where a small stripe of golden light lit the floor now. On the other side of the room.

The door swung open, three guards waited in the corridor. No, two guards with halberds and a man who carried a fork-like device. A thing that would snugly fit around a man’s throat to keep him at a distance in case he wanted to fight or to pull him out of the cell in case he wouldn’t want to follow.

Benjamin stared at the man who summoned him. His knees felt as weak as if he were still in the throes of fever. Now he had ended up with the executioner. The one who ‘overdid things, now that he had apprentices to teach’.

He wouldn’t fight. Carefully he set his feet, and frantically he tried to remember the one brilliant idea he had once had about the ransom.

 

***

 

The interrogation room was small, and became crowded when Benjamin and his three guards entered. Benjamin blinked into the lantern light like an owl jolted out of its daytime sleep. The provost was there, and next to him at the fire place stood Major von Hassfurt and rubbed his hands.

_Bastards!_

At the sturdy table a scribe sharpened his quill. He was the only one who wasn't staring at Benjamin. The two simply-dressed men next to the table scrutinized Benjamin with a certain annoyance. Whatever their task was, perhaps he was keeping them from supper.

Benjamin cast a glance around: no Captain von Innow. He wondered what the major had done to the man. He would have felt better with the captain around, and he started to fear for the heretic. Last time he had seen von Innow, the captain had been on the floor, bound, and a very furious major had held a drawn rapier in his hand.

The provost went to the table and dropped onto a chair next to the scribe.

“Name?”

“Benjamin Kenneberg.” Admit only that what they can prove.

“From?”

“Mainz.” That his family lived twenty miles west of the city he could mention later. In case taking ransom from the Jesuits wasn’t to their liking.

“Profession?”

 _Oh, that question …_ Benjamin drew a deep breath. “I’m a scholasticus, a student.”

“Of the Jesuits, I take it,” the provost sneered.

“Yes.” Now that the captain had roared that dangerous name across the yard and street there was no way to take it back. And who knew what the captain had told them about the letter?

“What you’re doing here, Scholasticus Kenneberg?”

 _Pardon?_ Benjamin stared at the provost. “Obviously I’m your prisoner.”

That earned him a blow to the back of his head. “Answer the provost!” the man with the fork barked.

Benjamin turned to the brute. “I have no idea what I am doing here! First I was a prisoner of a Captain von Innow and now of the major or the provost, what do I know!”

The sneering voice of the major made him turn back to the table. “Stop playing the fool, Papist! You know quite well what we’re after!”

The captain’s horse, his prey, his honour. Benjamin scowled at the major. Hell, he didn’t like the heretic, but in comparison to von Innow the major was a complete and utter bastard.

“I have no idea what you’re after,” he stated. “There is no conspiracy. You took me prisoner when I was tending to the wounded, you gave me to Captain von Innow, and the captain told me he would exchange me for ransom as soon as I’m well enough to ride to Leipzig.”

“Well, well, and despite the fact that you stole a gold-plated gospel from the captain and broke your word of honour, you’re still alive.” The major strolled to Benjamin, stepping up too close. “I wonder why.”

“To punish me for stealing Captain von Innow gave me a sound thrashing I assure you.” Benjamin tried a step back, but was stopped by the guard with the fork.

“For a man who shares a bed with ‘Captain von Innow’ you speak quite formally of him.”

Benjamin bit back a snort. “Sharing a bed doesn’t mean that he regards me as a friend – or that I do.”

“Really?”

Benjamin wished he had his hands free to beat that smirk out of the major’s face.

“Is there nothing you have to tell us, Scholasticus Kenneberg, regarding sins and such?”

“What are you getting at?” Benjamin asked, trying to hide his annoyance.

“I arrest Captain von Innow for sodomy, and you ask what I’m getting at!” the officer sneered.

Now it was out. What could he tell? Admit only what they can prove … And yet … “If the fact of sharing a bed already constitutes a case of sodomy you’d have to arrest every man who has ever slept in an inn,” Benjamin said, allowing his contempt to show in his words. “All you’re actually after, is the captain’s horses!”

“Hear, hear! So Innow has never ever touched you?”

“Of course he touched me: to beat me for running and stealing his book and a knife,” Benjamin snapped.

“But never in sin?” the major asked. “We have witnesses, you know…”

Witnesses? What witnesses?

Winter! The other Captain who had seen him naked. Who had witnessed von Innow’s bragging how this boy would keep his balls from freezing …

The triumphant grin of the other man showed Benjamin that his face had given away his realization.

“So he did touch you!” the major said. “Was it that good that you think you’ll be able to deny your bedfellow’s crime, huh?”

“There was nothing of that kind!” Benjamin called out loud. His guts started to freeze. Admit only what they can prove … “When Captain von Innow’s men had taken me prisoner he interrogated me. He didn’t know whether I was a clergyman or a journeyman printer, as I pretended to be. He stripped me almost naked and made me sit thus ... at his table, while he had supper, and all the time he said terrible things about the Catholic church, about us being all hell bound criminals, and at some point I talked back and told him that he would end up in hell, and from my words he deduced that I was a clergyman and not a printer. That was when Captain Winter came along.”

“Captain Winter?” Now the major looked puzzled.

 _Oh hell!_ Benjamin bit his lip. Just a lousy trick … “Captain Winter came into the tent to ask Captain von Innow a question. I thought he was your ‘witness’.”

Von Hassfurt shook his head with a grin. “No, but what did Winter do?”

“He made a funny face, talked to von Innow about going to Naumburg, and then he left,” Benjamin said with a shrug. Now he felt bad for the other captain too. Probably they would try to blackmail him as well.

“And then?” the major prodded.

Benjamin hung his head. Just what they can prove … and what von Innow would tell them in his defence:

“Later, a soldier who had stolen my jacket brought my letter of credit. It had been sewn in the lining and he had found it while searching for some coins. With the letter the captain had it in writing that I was bound for the Emperor’s army.”

“And that you’re a Jesuit,” the provost interfered. He left his place at the table and joined the major.

“I’m not a Jesuit yet,” Benjamin explained. “I’m a scholasticus, a student. I was on my way to my apostolic ministry, that is a time of service in a parish before I go to study theology. I studied at the Jesuit college in Mainz, that’s true. But that doesn’t make me a Jesuit yet. To become a Jesuit one has to be a priest, what I am not.”

“I see,” the provost said. “But you want to become one of them.” That was spoken so full of confidence that Benjamin was tempted to nod. But his devil screeched a warning.

Benjamin managed to turn that nod into a shake of his head.

“No?” The Major smiled, genuinely amused.

 _Yes, you can grin!_ Benjamin grit his teeth. “It’s a family tradition!” he spat then. “If I were free to choose I’d be a soldier! A cavalry man!” _And kill you all!_ “But I have to become a clergyman, and the Jesuits have the best school in Mainz, and it was for free, so my parents sent me there.”

“A would-be cavalry man! Now, we feel honoured,” the major sneered.

 _Oh, go to hell!_ Benjamin glared at the officer.

“All right, so the captain stripped you naked,” the provost said. “Didn’t you consider it strange?”

“Strange?” Benjamin blurted. “You can say that! But when he finally knew who I was, he was just interested in the ransom the Jesuits might … will pay for me.”

“Will they?” the major asked, squinting his eyes. “Why should they spend money on you if you’re not one of them yet?”

“They will!” Benjamin assured with all the confidence he could muster. “Like a guild who’ll bail out an apprentice who has done something foolish.”

“Hmm.” The Major scrutinized his prey. Benjamin cast down his eyes. _Lord, make him get hooked, I beg you!_

“Then tell me, Scholasticus, why I don’t believe this.”

Benjamin glared at him. “Because you’re constructing a case where there is none!”

“Oh, come on!” von Hassfurt said. “Everybody knows that von Innow likes handsome young men. He strips you naked – and then just nothing? Well, have it your way.” He turned to the two men who had waited next to the table and summoned the older one. “Check him for marks.”

The man, a sturdy blond one in his early forties, cast a look at Benjamin and turned his gaze to the major then. “You know there won’t be any if the boy was voluntarily in it.”

Von Hassfurt rolled his eyes. “Then find some!”

Benjamin gasped for air. He knew how many marks still marred his body. He had avoided looking at them, but he felt the bruises well enough.

“What is it?” the major asked in an amiable voice.

“You’re faking evidence!” Benjamin called in an attempt to lead them away from the track.

He had hoped for an argument. What he got was a slap in the face. By the major.

“On the table,” the blond man said, stepping back.

The guards closed in, grabbed Benjamin and shoved him forward, throwing him onto the tabletop.

He felt them grabbing his shirt, pulling it up.

“NO! Don’t!” He kicked, made a man roar and curse. A fist crashed into his temple, a hand grabbed the nape of his neck and forced his face down onto the wood. Cold iron bit the back of his thigh when the fork was applied there and his leg was pressed against the wooden one of the table. Another pair of hands on his bound arms, and a foot kicking in his calf, forcing his legs apart. Hands exposed his hips and with them all the shame he had suffered.

Benjamin froze when broad fingers closed over the bruises on his hipbones. Not again! They won’t! They would not dare rape him with the major present, wouldn’t they?

“Now look at this.” That was the blond man’s voice. “These are gained exactly like this.” Benjamin felt the fingers tighten, and then a hard shove of hips against his bare ass jolted him against the table, squeezed his cock against the wood.

“Oh, God! No, please, don’t!” Fear made his plea a yell.

The hands slid down, thumbs spread his buttocks. “Light.”

The younger of that pair took the lantern from the next to the scribe. Benjamin wondered what ugly wound they would see there. The idea alone made him retch. He heard a harrumph, heard a man spit, and a wet finger probed his anus. Benjamin bucked and screamed in panic.

They let go of him. Benjamin jumped up, stomping and shaking himself to make the shirt slide down, but all of them had seen him naked.

He gasped for breath, trying to bite the tears back. “You… you god-awful bastards! May the Lord …”

He was slapped in the face by the man who had just examined him. “Behave, boy!” This man’s voice showed no strain, but the blow was hard enough to make Benjamin stagger. One of the guards caught him.

 _These bastards! These god-forsaken beasts!_ Benjamin broke into sobs, hating himself for it as furiously as he hated the heretics for their mindless cruelty.

“He was raped,” the man reported to the scribe while cleaning his hand with a rag. “Quite badly, but he’s healing already. As for the time, I’d say four or five days ago. There are fresher bruises from a beating over these marks. About two days old, probably from a belt or another leather strap. And there’s quite some scar tissue all over his back. Looks like that our young friend indulges in self-flagellation.”

Benjamin shivered. The man’s findings were so accurate that he doubted he had been touched by a surgeon or a physician even. No, this man was the executioner. Only this one would be able to tell from bruises how and when they were received, because he was the one who was in charge of the torture sessions, but was also expected to heal a victim of torture when its innocence was proven. He stared at the man and got a friendly nod in return. Not a brute who craved blood, then, but a tradesman who took his profession seriously.

Benjamin gaped at him, not able to rein in his horror. He should have realized it, by the fact alone that nobody called an executioner by his name!

“So that’s why he ran,” he heard the major say. “Not to warn his army, the little hero, but because Innow had buggered him!”

_What?_

“No!”

“No?” the major looked up, as did the provost and the scribe. All three frowning at the interruption.

“It wasn’t the captain but the redcoats who did this to me,” Benjamin said.

Obviously to their annoyance, because that major barked, “What redcoats?”

“Isolani’s,” Benjamin answered. “When I ran, I managed to overtake your army. I ran into a detachment of the redcoats. _They_ did this to me, mistaking me for someone of your army.”

The major and the provost looked at each other as if considering the new perils of becoming a prisoner of war.

“Well, well,” the provost said then, while the scribe crossed out a line. “You must be really in love with him, aren’t you?”

“Huh?”

“With Innow,” the provost smiled. “Getting buggered by this bastard, but blaming it on the redcoats whom we can hardly interrogate.”

“But it’s the truth!”

“The truth?” the major laughed out loud. “How nice.”

He left his place at the table and strode towards Benjamin. He looked as if he longed to beat his prisoner again, and Benjamin sent up a hurried prayer to the Mother of God to protect himself.

But instead of beating him, von Hassfurt put his fists on his hips and shouted at Benjamin, “So you want to lead us to believe that you shared this bugger’s bed, and he didn’t touch you!”

Spittle hit Benjamin’s face, and disgusted he took a step back, only to be stopped by the man with the fork. The brute shoved him back, right into the major. That earned Benjamin a punch in the guts. Nobody caught him when he fell to his knees, gasping with pain.

“Jesuits!” the major spat. “Nothing but buggers themselves, and liars on top of it!”

 _That’s a dirty lie!_ Benjamin wanted to scream, but all he could do was struggle for air and fight the dizziness that was about to take over.

Von Hassfurt barked an order, and Benjamin was pulled to his feet. The hand belonged to the blond man. He waited for a moment until Benjamin had regained his balance, then he walked him to a door at the left side of the room.

The man with the fork hurried to open it, and the younger assistant brought the lantern.

A room bigger than the one they had just left, and filled with devices Benjamin had hoped he would never ever see.

His guard let him take in the view of a rack, of the hooks and chains hanging from the ceiling, of a ‘donkey’. This was a device looking similar to a vaulting horse, but it was neither flat nor padded at the top, but acute-angled like the roof of a merchant’s house.

The man led Benjamin to this device. “Listen, boy. You’re not the accused here, but heard as another witness. But if you don’t answer our questions in detail you’ll lead us to believe that you’re guilty of sodomy as well, defending your partner-in-crime.”

He let go of Benjamin’s arm. But his hand settled on Benjamin’s nape. Benjamin shivered. This would be the hand which would put the noose around his neck.

“If we suspect that you’re guilty of sodomy, as well, you’ll be accused as well, and I’ll put you on the donkey for interrogation,” the executioner explained in a calm voice. “How long do you think you’ll be able to sit on the sharp edge of a wooden board, damaged as you are? I tell you: not for the time of three Our Fathers. Your arse is already hurt and this will squeeze your balls as well and all the tender tissue up to the bones of your pelvis…”

Benjamin hung his head. “Please don’t do this to me. I was not voluntarily in it, I swear, and our Lord already punished me with the redcoats!”

“Yet _He_ won’t spare you the pain of torture if you don’t tell us what Captain von Innow did to you. Tell us, and you can return to your cell.”

‘Yes, just to be dragged out and tortured an hour later!’ the little devil spat, but Benjamin found it hard to speak at all.

He looked from the executioner to the donkey and back. Perhaps the executioner spoke truth. Perhaps it would be over. Telling them the truth would be enough to make von Innow burn. But himself, he might get away somehow … exchanged for ransom …

“Now, boy,” the executioner said and ran his hand down between Benjamin’s shoulder blades. “What really happened to you in the captain’s tent? He touched you. Against your will. It was shameful, yes, and we understand that it’s hard to speak about it. But he will be punished, not you.”

Benjamin groaned. He didn’t want von Innow to be punished. At least not by these men.

“Now put him on the donkey, will you!” the major spat.

“Sir, even if you accuse the boy, it’s wont to show him the instruments first and give him time to think,” the executioner contradicted. To Benjamin he said, “Use your common sense, boy! You want to survive, you want to get out of here. Why would you want to expose yourself to torture? For an enemy who raped you?”

“He didn’t rape me,” Benjamin assured. “He touched me, but he didn’t rape me like the redcoats did!”

“But you think God sent you the redcoats as punishment,” the provost said. “Did you like these touches then?”

The executioner cast the provost a dirty look. Benjamin noticed it, tempted to laugh out in despair. These heretics were as sly as the Inquisition itself. Why on earth had he blurted out that detail?

“Touches, eh?” the major sneered. “Perhaps our good Innow is one of those who like to get buggered, and our young friend here was up to the task and deserves to burn first!”

“NO!”

“Then why not tell us, boy?”

“Perhaps he’s afraid to admit that he gave head like any good whore does,” the provost grinned. “What else do these choir boys learn at their Jesuit schools?”

“You bloody bastards!” Benjamin shouted. “You’re sicker than the captain ever was! He just touched me! And I was bound! He touched me everywhere, but I never …”

He stopped dead, realizing that he was giving everything away.

“But you never did what?” the executioner asked, rubbing Benjamin’s back like a friend would do to soothe him – or like von Innow had done when Benjamin had sat on his lap, shivering with cold and dread.

“I never did such a thing. He just stroked me until I … tainted myself.”

The Major whistled through his teeth. “An attentive lover, eh?”

“And what did he do then?” the provost asked, not caring for von Hassfurt’s comment.

Benjamin squeezed his eyes shut. “He lay upon me, tainted me with his semen. It was … disgusting.” He had no problem to retch dry at the mere memory of it.

“And that was all?” the provost sounded disappointed.

Benjamin nodded.

“Well, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” the executioner said, patting Benjamin’s shoulder.

Benjamin groaned. _Not hard?_ He felt like a traitor again. The first time he had killed Thomas with his blurting, this time he would condemn von Innow to death. The man deserved punishment, yes, but a just one – not by these extortionists!

Yet, they seemed to be satisfied. The executioner ushered him back into the first room. The scribe returned to the table and scribbled down the statement he just had heard. The Major rubbed his hands and asked the provost, “Well, what about dinner then? I’ll pay the wine”, and the executioner told his assistant with the fork to lock up Benjamin and to finish work for the day then.

Benjamin felt as if he was in a bad dream. They would go home, have dinner and a nice evening while he had just sent von Innow to the stake? _How dare you!_ he was tempted to shout, but the guard with the fork grabbed his bad arm and shoved him out of the room. The guards with the halberds followed, discussing pubs.

This time the guard didn’t bother to take him back to cell number five. The executioner’s assistant opened the first door. “In here, chop-chop!”

What becomes of me now and the ransom? Benjamin wanted to ask. He turned to the guard, but was shoved into the cell. With such vigour that he had fight for balance so as not to fall. The door was slammed shut, and the key was turned.

In helpless fury, Benjamin turned to the door and hissed, “You God-damn heretic scum! The devil may take you all!”

A sad chuckle answered out of the dark, accompanied by the clinking of chains and the rustling of straw. Benjamin jumped. “Who’s there?”

“Guess who,” a well-known voice said.

# Chapter 23

“Captain von Innow?” Benjamin asked. The panicked squeak wasn’t his own voice, was it?

“Are you all right, Benjamin?”

It was the captain’s voice, no doubt, and it sounded concerned.

 _All right? What was ‘all right’?_ Benjamin felt like screaming and yet he couldn’t draw breath. Why had that idiot of a hangman’s apprentice locked him up with the man he just had betrayed? To add to his anguish? No-one in his right mind would lock up two suspects together! Why him and the captain?

 _Let me out of here for heaven’s sake!_ But no, he couldn’t call the executioner or the guards. No-one who had seen him naked. No-one who might get a wicked idea of how to spend the evening …

“Benjamin! What’s the matter with you, lad?” The concerned voice from the dark was louder now, urgent. “Can you walk? Come over here, will you?”

The keening moans must have been his own, because he had to stop them before he could shout. “I told them, you goddamn bastard! I told them what you did!” Not willing to face he man he had brought ruin upon, Benjamin dropped to the floor and curled up, pressing himself against the door as if he could slip through it if only he wished hard enough.

His face was hot and hurting, and he felt every punch now with new vigour. God, how he hated them all! But he himself was the most despicable subject of them all. So easily tricked, so easily cowed. No, this was not the Benjamin Kenneberg of his daydreams, not the crafty Jesuit scholasticus who smuggled leaflets through hostile territory. Not the hero whose shoulders were slapped by his brethren for bringing them the means of propaganda that would make Saxony rise against the Swedes. Not the one who had warned the Emperor’s army of the Swedes – because some dirty redcoats had made this reconnaissance job long ago.

Just the one whom anyone's, literally anyone's hand, could stop. And they had. He still felt the executioner’s hands on his hips, the jerk against his ass, mimicking the rape. Screaming helped. Banging his head against the wood and screaming. If he was lucky his skull would break as in the tales of the good virgins who rather died than being raped or marrying a heathen or heretic.

“Benjamin!” A roar. “Over here! Now!”

“Leave me alone!” Why didn’t they kill him? Why not a clean stab through his chest and leave him to die? Because they wanted to see him dying a wretched death, being eaten alive by bright fire, screaming mindlessly …

The door gave way to golden light – but not heaven’s. The guards were back with a lantern: “What the hell is going on here!”

Fear strangled him. They would take him back into the interrogation room, that was for certain. “No …”

“Cut his bonds open!” von Innow called. “You see he’s gone mad with pain and fear.”

“Then he has to stay bound,” the guard in charge said in a sullen voice. “See to it that he keeps his mouth shut!”

“How, when I'm chained over here?” von Innow sneered. In a more reasonable voice he added, “If you take off my irons, I’ll take care of him.”

One guard was about to enter the cell, but his comrade held him back. “Don’t! That’s the oldest trick to escape.”

Benjamin cast a look upwards. If he were not bound, he might have managed to make a run: dive between their legs into the corridor and run for the door.  But he shivered so hard that even sitting up was a dire task.

“It’s not about escape, it's about helping him!” von Innow said in the meantime. “Just look at him: putting a man in this dungeon in nothing but a nightshirt! At least get him a blanket!”

Now, in the lantern light, Benjamin could see von Innow sitting on a patch of straw. His arms bound behind his back and his feet chained to a big chunk of stone, he looked like a captured highwayman and not like an officer under arrest at all. The Captain’s jaw line was dark in the place where the suture had been. So he had been beaten as well. To Benjamin this sight was oddly soothing: the heretic had got his share of misery.

The guards, however, slammed to door shut, not inclined to discuss blankets.

“Bastards,” von Innow hissed.

Benjamin managed an exhausted chuckle. In this, the captain was right.

“Listen, Benjamin,” von Innow said, talking slowly and reassuringly to him as if he was reasoning with a madman. “It is _important_ that you get up and over here where the straw is. You can not stay on that stone floor, half-naked as you are. But I just saw that you are bound with rope. That means you can cut that rope by rubbing it against the stone of that corner right there in the doorway. Will you do that?”

He had to laugh. Almost. If the whole situation weren’t so terrible. “So you still imagine we can escape the stake?”

“There will be no stake, Benjamin. Duke Bernhard will see through this lousy farce and will set us free, no doubt.”

“But I told them!”

“Told them what?” von Innow asked. “Come on, Benjamin, do your Order honour, and gather your wits! We are in prison, all right. We are accused of whatever, all right, but we are not convicted yet at all, and we won’t be either, trust me!”

“Sodomy!” Benjamin said, still seeing in his mind’s eye the triumph in von Hassfurt’s grin. “It’s sodomy they are getting you for. They didn’t even ask about a conspiracy!” His teeth still chattered, but so much he managed.

“Idiots!” von Innow snorted.

“But they say they have witnesses! Or at least they pretended! And I fell for it!”

“Well, I didn’t expect you would keep quiet about this,” von Innow said, sounding almost amused.

“Huh?”

“Honestly, Benjamin, I was certain you would gladly testify against me, considering all your snarling and the dirty looks you gave me.”

“To help these god-awful bastards?” Furiously, he glared at the captain whom he could barely discern in the darkness. “You may be the most despicable, god-forsaken heretic I ever met, but those gits, they are _…” What? Even more despicable, much more god-forsaken heretics?_

“Ah, I love you too.” Now there was definitely laughter in the captain’s voice. 

“Don’t you mock me!”

“I'm not. But having the same enemy makes us … if not friends then at least allies, doesn’t it?”

Benjamin hung his head with a sigh, defeated. “It does.”

“Good.” Von Innow sounded relieved. “Now: try to get rid of that rope. And get your bum off that stone floor. If you can stand up, do that, otherwise kneel. I don’t want to incur Mrs. Sommer’s wrath for bringing her her little Papist back with a worsened fever.”

Benjamin chuckled against his will. _What nonsense! As if Mrs. Sommer would care for him._ But the thought of her house helped: warmth, light, food, a bed. And hadn’t she brought him beer, given him a candle? It was worth it to get ones bum off the floor for all that. Kneel he could. He moved backwards until his hands touched the bricks of the doorway. He rubbed the rope against the corner stone. “That might take a while.”

“Oh, I’m nothing but patient in my current position, believe me.”

The Lord might know how von Innow managed to joke in this dreadful state, but Benjamin felt his mood lighten. Getting rid of the rope wasn’t easy, but he could do this, fibre by fibre. How the captain expected to get out of the irons was another question, and then there was the matter of the door. But he had already proven that it was possible to call the guards by mere screaming, and the guards wouldn’t expect to face their prisoners unleashed.

 

***

 

Cutting the rope took time, but the exertion kept him warm, and he was better used to kneeling on a cold stone floor than the captain could imagine. Heretics didn’t spend much time in prayer, didn’t mortify their flesh. Now all these nights spent on the church floor saying rosary after rosary turned out in his favour. In the end it would be him who would take the captain back to Mrs. Sommer’s house, and the captain would have to stay in bed with fever.

Benjamin couldn’t suppress a yelp of triumph when he felt the first strand of the rope break.

“Got it?” von Innow asked.

“Some of it.” Benjamin carried on with new vigour. It was difficult to keep up the balance between destroying the rope and taking care of his wrists.

But he managed. After an hour or two – he had no idea how long it took –, the rope finally broke, and it had been bound so sloppily that it came off after a minute of wriggling his wrists: no trouble due to additional knots.

“Yesss!” Benjamin couldn’t remember ever feeling so satisfied with himself. He got to his feet, carefully due to the pins and needles in his legs. When he tried to stretch, his stomach still hurt, and his head reminded him sternly that banging it against a door had been a bad idea as well. But he had the rope to at least prove this victory, and he clutched it while trying to rub some warmth into himself.

Then he went over to the captain, taking care not to stumble in the dark, over the stone or the man himself. He crouched down next to von Innow and dropped the rope where he imagined von Innow’s stomach to be. “I am free now, whereas you don’t seem to have been successful so far.”

Von Innow chuckled. “Now look at the pup mocking the old hunting dog for his leash!”

“More a chained-up dog.” Benjamin ran his hand down von Innow’s arm to feel for the irons. Solid ones, fitting so tightly around the man’s wrists that they cut into the flesh. Locks on both of them. A chain between them and another chain that connected them to a ring in the wall.

“How good are you at picking locks?” Von Innow turned his head, and Benjamin felt the captain’s breath on his own cheek. He flinched.

“Uh, never tried it.” Lock-picking was for thieves. _But it might be a useful skill for a Jesuit in heretic countries._

“You'd better learn it,” von Innow suggested. “Protestants have the bad habit of locking up Papists.”

“Just what I thought. What about a tool?”

That earned him an unhappy huff of breath. “Try one of the spur buckles. Maybe the tongue is long enough.”

“How come that you, as a seasoned sinner, don’t carry a lockpick with you, just in case?” Benjamin didn’t know where this came from, but he enjoyed teasing the heretic. Said heretic answered with a sad snort.

Mocking him made it easier to touch the man. There was the boot, iron around the ankle, the spur leather… and there was the buckle. Benjamin took the spur off, ran his thumb over the wheel. He wondered what von Innow would say if poked with it …

No, he wouldn’t be that mean! Benjamin examined the buckle. “The tongue is rather short, and I take it I have to make a hook out of it?” The whole idea was futile.

“Yes, you do.” Von Innow wriggled to give Benjamin better access to his bound hands. “Please, Benjamin, try hard. I don’t want to spend the night in irons like a thief!”

“Do you think we could call the guards a second time, fool them and run?” With a foreboding Benjamin remembered the many guards in the watch room.

“I don’t intend to run,” von Innow stated to his surprise. “But I refuse to be treated like a criminal!”

“Sodomy is a crime, punishable by death, in case you forgot it.”

“Rubbish!” the captain snapped.

“What, rubbish?” Benjamin called. “I don’t know about your war articles, but it’s in the Constitutio Criminalis Carolina, and that’s the law for the Empire! Or do you refuse to acknowledge that as well?”

“I refuse to acknowledge that it is a crime!” the heretic objected. “A sin, all right, as is apparently everything you do outside the matrimonial bed, but it doesn’t offend anybody…”

“It offends our Lord! It’s a sin that cries out to Heaven!”

That earned him an annoyed growl. “Listen, Benjamin,” von Innow said then in a soft voice, reasoning again as if expecting to speak to a madman, “can you try to do one thing for me?”

“The lockpick?” Benjamin turned the spur in his hands. He could barely see it.

“No,” von Innow said. “The following: Take a deep breath …”

“What for?”

“Let me finish,” the captain insisted. “I want you to take a deep breath and forget for a moment everything they drummed into you at your Jesuit school.”

“How could I?”

“You could at least try! I know that students of law discuss their cases from various roles. And I suspect when you exercise how to convert heretics, one of you has to play a heretic as well. Could you do that for half an hour?”

“You’re not going to tell me for half an hour that binding me on your bed and licking me all over like a dog was an act of selfless compassion, are you?” Benjamin asked in his most sarcastic voice.

Von Innow chuckled. “No. That was very selfish. And yet I saw to your pleasure as well.”

“I took no pleasure in it!”

“Take a breath and think about that: you did as every healthy young man would have done.”

“Stop that shit!” Furious, Benjamin lashed out at von Innow, with the spur as a weapon. He hit fabric, not boot leather.

“OW! Benjamin, that’s not helpful!”

“Not helpful? I’ll give you not helpful!” With his free hand, Benjamin lashed out at von Innow’s head. He hit hair and an ear.

The heretic shouted out with pain, but there was an incredulous, furious note in that shout, a sound that made Benjamin grit his teeth: this bastard of a nobleman thought he could deal out a thrashing whenever he liked, but was surprised when he got slapped?

Red-hot anger made him beat von Innow again. Without the spur, but with full force. And it felt good to beat him. Whatever he hit, skin, hair, clothes, every strike was relief, was payback for every cruelty the heretic had done to him.

“Stop!” Von Innow rolled to his side, tried to protect his face, but Benjamin wouldn’t have any of it: he jumped at the captain, pinned him in place by sitting down on him, and lashed out again, not caring if the sticky liquid on his palm was spittle or blood when he slapped von Innow in the face.

The heretic tossed and wriggled, and with a scraping sound the heavy stone weight was tugged across the floor. But it was too heavy to allow von Innow to kick.

“Benjamin! Quarter! One doesn’t beat a bound man!”

“But molesting a bound man, that’s all right?” Benjamin snapped at the bound man. “Did you stop when I asked you to? No! You thought it funny, but the Lord sent me the Redcoats to punish me for this ‘pleasure’!”

“Bullshit! These bastards would fuck even a dead dog if there’s no more peasant girl to rape! Thank the Lord that they left you alive!”

Benjamin flinched. Wasn’t that the same what Father Michael had told him during his confession? _It might have been the devil’s doing as well, judging from who were the means. Our Lord saved you, never doubt that_!

“Listen, Benjamin,” von Innow gasped. “These riders are nothing but scum: not able to free their lands from the Turks they enlist here and have no other aim than to loot and molest the peasants. We slay them as soon as we get them. But they’re with the Imperial army, and when you go there and get mistaken for a Swede or a civilian, then you are really, really lucky if you survive at all.”

“Oh, I can’t tell you how lucky I feel!” Benjamin sneered.

The captain drew a deep shuddering breath. “I’m sorry,” he rasped. After a while he added, “But if you had stayed in my tent you would have been safe.”

“But not from you!”

“No, not from me. But I would have been kinder.”

“Great!” Benjamin hung his head.

“Much kinder,” von Innow promised. “Just don’t expect me to read you poetry.”

Benjamin couldn’t help laughing. But it was a desperate bark. What the hell was that about? He had beaten up that man, and in return he got words about kindness? Why no threats like ‘Just you wait! As soon as I’m rid of my irons…’

The wild satisfaction he had felt a mere minute ago when beating the captain dwindled, and disgust crept into its place. Disgust about himself. No, one didn’t beat a bound man. And he should be better than that heretic: besting him with words, by arguments and logic, not with fists like a stupid peasant. Proving to him from the Holy Bible that sodomy was a sin that cried out to heaven. And if he had liked it, then only in an unguarded moment, one in which he had been so distraught by von Innow’s sinful behaviour that the devil himself could stretch out his claws even at him: Benjamin Kenneberg, who would never ever …

‘Ah, trying to fool yourself, aren't you?’ his own devil snickered. ‘You liked it, scum! Look, why are you still sitting on this one, astride like a whore? Feels good to have him between your legs, doesn’t it? Feeling him breathing against your naked thighs, eh? Make him prove how kind he’ll be! Just pull up your shirt and make him swallow.’

Benjamin jumped up as if stung by a wasp.

The captain was not that agile. Benjamin heard a groan and a deep sigh, but there was no more rustle in the straw, no sign that von Innow was trying to do what he had recommended himself: to get up off the ice-cold stone floor.

Fear clawed at him. Yes, he had meant to make the heretic hurt: give him the hiding he deserved. But what if he had done serious damage? They could hang him for just raising a hand against an officer, a nobleman. What if the captain died? He had beaten him in the face, punched him in the chest, the stomach. What if?

He knelt next to von Innow. Could he ask, ‘Are you all right?’

“Let me help you sit up.” Yes, that was safer. He grabbed the captain under the armpits, tried to pull him up. But he succeeded only then when the bigger man started to cooperate.

“I’m sorry.” It hurt to admit it. He should feel content because he had given the heretic what the man deserved in justified anger. And yet the devil of his conscience brayed with laughter.

‘There, you idiot! Now you fuss over him while just a minute ago you wanted to beat him to death! Would you make up your mind what you want with this one? But most certainly you should want his forgiveness, otherwise he’ll be freed by his Duke whereas you’ll rot here until your execution!’

 _Shut up!_ Benjamin barked at his devil. He held a hand between von Innow’s head and the wall when the captain leant back with an exhausted groan, making sure that von Innow didn’t bump his head. Only then he carefully extracted his hand, feeling ashamed for touching the man now that he cared for him.

The captain’s lack of response was uncanny, and Benjamin tried for a better explanation. “Yes, I did take pleasure that very moment, but it was …”

‘Pleasurable’, the devil prompted.

“… not a thing I was supposed to enjoy, and you knew that!”

Von Innow chuckled wearily and hissed when some part of his body refused to express amusement. “Good God, why do all these moralists consider it a pious deed to punch me in the nose?”

Benjamin hung his head. _See?_ he told his devil. _Did he learn anything from this beating? No. Still no contrition, but he’s cracking jokes. What an obstinate sinner!_

And yet he worried for the heretic. There had been some understanding between them before. The Captain had promised to exchange him for ransom, and he had borne it to share his bed. Being clutched close at night. Under warm blankets.

Benjamin hugged himself. Honestly, if he thought about it, he would give anything to be back in that bed, under the blankets, and hearing the heretic snore right next to him.

But he wouldn’t be that lucky tonight. All he could hope for was that tomorrow would bring a change for the better. That the captain was right about his duke. And that he, Benjamin, would still be welcome in the captain’s house – on whatever conditions, as long as he didn't have to stay here with the executioner and the major.

There was only one way to prove his usefulness he could think of:

“I’ll try the lock picking,” he suggested. “Just have to find the spur.”

A growl was all he got for an answer. Benjamin decided it expressed agreement.

The spur was found easily enough by patting the straw. “Ow.” Benjamin felt for the poor horses.

Lock picking was not that easy.

The captain turned readily to give him access to his bound hands. But the spur buckle 's tongue was just as long as Benjamin’s thumb was wide, and Benjamin doubted he had felt anything of the lock mechanism so far.

Damn the cold. With his fury the heat had gone, and the cold hurt twice as bad now that he needed every bit of his sense of touch in the darkness.

“No way!” he hissed, irritated. “It’s far too short.”

“Hmm, what if you take the buckle apart and set the tongue into one of the cord points of my breeches?” von Innow suggested.

Benjamin remembered the tiny metal casings at the end of the cords which connected the captain’s breeches and his doublet. Thin and of half a finger’s length, they were supposed to make it easier to thread the cords through the doublet eyelets, but yes, they might provide an – albeit short – handle for the little metal spike as well.

Groping into the captain’s clothes had not been on his agenda for tonight, not at all. But of course he would do it in order to gain gratitude for setting the captain free. Benjamin lifted the hem of the first jacket, of the second. Damn that man, inside the jackets it was warm! There was the waistline of the doublet and the cords tied into bows. Benjamin was tempted to rest his fingers there longer than necessary, but the heretic turned his head to him – certainly he would say something lecherous right now.

Benjamin grabbed the nearest cord and ripped it off. Von Innow grunted, but said nothing.

Now there was the tricky part: to take the tongue off the buckle, make a hook out of it and insert it into the tin casing – and everything in this pitch-black hole.

The other spur had to serve as lever or hammer, the stone weight as workbench. A cut thumb and many bitten-back curses later Benjamin had a little hooked device.

“Now…” Again he crouched next to the heretic. Crouching on knees and elbows he felt for the lock, but accidentally touched von Innow’s hand first. Big fingers closed around his. “Good luck,” the captain said, letting go.

“Thank you.” Benjamin felt relieved, encouraged both by the touch and the sincere tone of von Innow’s voice.

He set the lockpick into the lock and felt for the gap: the mechanism where the key would fit in. There! Now there should be a metal nose he had to push at. Theeere …

The executioner’s apprentice, however, held his locks in such a rusty state that Benjamin’s tool broke as soon as he put some pressure on it: the hook broke out of the point-handle, and, even worse, it got lost in the depths of the rusty lock itself.

“Shit!” Benjamin shouted. “What god-awful, bloody crap!” Furious, he hurled the handle straight across the prison cell. The very next moment he realized that with another spur left, it was a stupid idea to throw away the handle.

Close to tears with fatigue and failure, he rested his forehead against the wall. “I give up.”

“All right,” von Innow sighed and moved back to the wall to find better support. “So Fortuna ignores us tonight. Just her luck!”

Benjamin answered with a sad growl. _Fortuna?_ No, it was the Lord who didn’t want von Innow to get free. All he could hope for was that the Lord was just teaching the heretic a lesson – and hadn’t lost patience with him at all.

“Now, Benjamin, chin up, soldier,” the captain encouraged him and moved a little closer so he could nudge Benjamin with a shoulder. “You made every effort. If we’re condemned to wait this out, we might as well take a nap. Come, make use of my jackets and get some sleep.”

“How, when you can’t take them off due to the irons?” Benjamin asked, hating the petulant whine in his own voice.

“Unbutton them, sit on my legs and pull them around you as far as possible,” von Innow suggested. At Benjamin’s silence he added, “Come on. There’s no sin intended. Just to keep you warm until we can return to our house tomorrow.”

 “It won’t help our case when the guards find us like that!”

“They’re used to seeing prisoners huddle together, believe me,” von Innow said.

The tone of his voice made Benjamin wonder. “Have you been in prison before?”

“Yes,” von Innow said, unperturbed. “Several times, as soldiers of bad fortune do, but never for good and never for long. So believe me when I tell you that tomorrow night we’ll sleep in our bed with all our blankets, and all will be well.”

 _If I could only believe this!_  Benjamin’s sad snort betrayed his disbelief. And what was ‘our bed’ supposed to imply anyway?

“Come on, Benjamin, don’t give up hope, will you? You want to go home, hmm? To your brethren, to your family, don’t you?”

“Yes, and that’s why I won’t do anything that might offend our Lord in the slightest!” Benjamin scowled at the man next to him. “Because just in assuring me that you don’t intend to sin you proved that you already considered it, didn’t you?” He remembered sitting on the captain’s lap back then in his tent and the man’s hardened member pressing against his thigh, separated from his skin just by a layer of fabric or two.

Von Innow groaned. “Spare me that Jesuit logic! Freeze your arse off if you insist on it and die from fever if you like! Why do I care at all!”

Benjamin wondered himself. Why should that man care when he had beaten him so badly?

Literally freezing his arse off wasn’t a danger. Getting a worse fever and dying from it, however, was.

Tired as he was, huddling against the captain was very tempting, but he would not give in! He would do the only thing that might save him now: and that was getting on his feet and praying. With a groan, he stood up.

“For getting out of here…” he murmured. He had no rosary to kiss its cross, but he could cross himself. Starting with the Apostles’ Creed he expected von Innow to protest – or to disappear in a puff of sulphurous smoke: this silly thought Benjamin allowed himself. But the heretic didn’t say a word.

Four steps, turn, four steps, turn. He could say a rosary without having the beads. It was about time to gain some indulgence for all the curses he had hissed and thought while tinkering with the lockpick. While saying the rosary the thought crossed his mind that chanting the psalms themselves would be better then just saying the Ave repeatedly. After all, the rosary had been invented to give the lay people a substitute for chanting all the psalms only clergymen would know by rote. So, after finishing the rosary, he started with the psalms, all of them, whether the heretic would like it or not.

When he was at the Penitential Psalms and at number 50, the Miserere, he couldn’t help casting a meaningful glance at the dark shadow on the ground when chanting the line

_I will teach the unjust Thy ways, and the wicked shall be converted to Thee._

When he was beginning Psalm 129, the De Profundis,

_Out of the depths have I cried unto Thee, O Lord: Lord hear my voice._

_Let Thine ears be attentive to the voice of my supplication._

his prayer was accompanied by some groans that grew louder and louder and became an unperturbed snoring. So much for the conversion of Captain von Innow! Benjamin stopped both walking and chanting. Putting his hands on his hips, he frowned at the heretic. The devilish grunting went on.

Benjamin kicked the captain in the thigh.

Von Innow started. “Wha…”

But all he got to hear was the rest of psalm 129.

“If you think you can bribe the Lord with that slurred croaking all night long, think again!” the heretic growled when Benjamin finished the psalm. “And don’t you think I don’t know you kicked me on purpose!”

Admittedly, he was hoarse already, but with dodged determination Benjamin went on. Hoarseness, cold, weariness – these were all the devil’s means to distract him, but he could not let the devil win.

After all 150 psalms he was certain to have gained indulgence, that the Lord would have to care for him, but he was dog-tired as well. It had to be already the wee hours of the morning, when the human spirit was weakened by the body’s inadequacy. For all his walking had left him cold; and hugging himself, rubbing his sides in the rhythm of the chants hadn’t helped. A nightshirt was inadequate in a dungeon, in this the captain had been right. The coldness of the ground was creeping up, as if the graveyard already beckoned.

He should go on, repeat the psalms or say a rosary. Yes, saying a rosary would be easier. He crossed himself. Said the Apostels’ Creed, said a Pater Noster, counted the Ave Marias on his fingers, said a Pater Noster, counted again, wondered if he had said eight or nine Aves now – and stumbled.

The ground was suddenly there and awfully hard. Benjamin realized that he had left his path of praying and had stumbled over Captain von Innow. In a fit of anger hit the floor with his fist. Something in this was highly symbolic, he was just too tired to understand what it was.

 _Too tired …_ He couldn’t help the tears. Furious, exhausted tears. All he wanted was to sleep. But if he slept in here, he would die.

“Come here, Benjamin,” temptation said in a low voice with a northern accent. “The Mother of God has certainly heard you, now give her time to pray for us sinners. My offer still stands. Come here and rest. You do want to see your brethren again, your family, don’t you? But you won’t if you neglect your body. I thought the Jesuits more practical-minded than dying out of sheer stubbornness.”

In his mind’s eye Benjamin saw Father Michael frowning at him for being an unpractical Jesuit, and he saw his own mother, scared to lose her youngest son as she had once lost her little daughters to a fever.

Remembering his own mother’s grief gave him strength enough to push himself up. He felt for the captain in the darkness, found his legs, crawled upon them, found the jackets. They seemed to be so cold that he wondered if they would be worth the effort. “Unbutton them and then sit with my back against your front?”

“Yes.” Was there satisfaction in the captain’s voice?

“O dear.” _Lord, you know, it’s just due to the cold and my fever …_ With fingers barely up to the task Benjamin started to unbutton the captain’s jacket.

 

***

 

“Better, isn’t it?” Von Innow’s breath against his neck was warm, his voice disturbingly gentle. Right, the captain’s hands were tied …

Clutching the jackets to his sides, Benjamin shivered, trying to soak up the warmth. It was better than on the floor, no doubt.

But a good Jesuit apprentice would have gone without that, would have trusted in the power of his prayers and would have overcome his tired flesh.

In his mind’s eye the Mother of God was looking at him: the stern Madonna from their church in Mainz, not the happy young mother from the Lützen castle – and the Mother of God looked at him in deep disappointment for he was too weak to be a true follower of her son.

It was just such: his family might expect him to become a priest, and there were certainly many priests worse than the one he would be, but to the Mother of God, to the Lord himself, he would be a disappointment. Benjamin bit his lip not to sob out loud in misery, but his shuddering breath betrayed him anyway.

And right, von Innow – the one whose blasphemous comments he needed right now as badly as he needed the devil’s appearance (or Major von Hassfurt’s) – von Innow cleared his throat.

“Look, when I was in prison before or wounded or up to my ears in some other trouble, I always imagined that right at sunset I would saddle my horse and ride home. Imagine that, Benjamin: to return home, seeing your house from the distance, riding into the yard, and suddenly you hear well-known voices calling ‘Look, Benjamin is back!’ And they’ll all gather, regardless what they just did, be they white with flour from making bread or come right from the stable, but they all run together and welcome their prodigal son back.”

Benjamin shook his head. If the captain intended to cheer him up, he was doing an awful job of it. “If you’re referring to my family, forget about it! I had an awful argument with my father the last time I was there…” Now he was sobbing, and he hated himself for his weakness as much as he hated the heretic for poisoning his mind with such false hopes.

Von Innow snorted softly. “That’s the point, Benjamin. To _imagine_ it. Look, I was never welcomed home since the day I ran away at seventeen. And when homesickness drove me back, my father knew no compassion, the self-righteous Bible-basher that he was. But that never stopped me from _imagining_ that in the meantime they had changed their minds and how glad they would be to eventually have me back. And I’ll bet when _you_ return home and when _you_ tell your father that you had fought in a real battle – and one that was bigger and raged worse than the one at Hoechst ten years ago – then _your_ father will look at you with respect. Then he will say one of the things fathers use to say on such occasions like ‘you’ve grown up, son’ or ‘now you have proven that you’re worth your name’, and he’ll slap your back and invite you for a beer or a brandy or whatever your father offers an equal. Don’t you think that possible?”

“Perhaps…” Benjamin had to smile about the way von Innow’s voice boomed when he spoke up as a father. And when he thought of the quarrel at home it had been about this: his father had told him to his face that Benjamin had no idea about war and the compromises one had to make in wartime to survive and protect one’s family. ‘Childish’, ‘head in the clouds’, that had been the insults piled upon Benjamin. Perhaps telling them about Lützen would reconcile his old man with him …

“See, in a ‘perhaps’ there is already hope,” von Innow praised. “And imagine your mother, your siblings. I suppose you have some?”

Benjamin nodded, not willing to give away any details.

“Now, all of them will pester you to tell them how things went in Saxony: your brothers will ask you if you have seen, no, met General Wallenstein, of course, and what he thinks about the state of the Empire. And your sisters, well, whatever sisters ask … if you’ve seen the Duchess of Saxony, for instance, and what colour her horse was.”

Benjamin snorted. “Captain! I might be the one who’ll never have a wife, but that much I know of women that they do not ask about a Duchess’ _horse_! Her dress maybe and its colour, but her horse, really!”

“You’re not from a horse breeder’s family then!” von Innow called, mock-offended. “ _My_ sisters would have asked!”

He nuzzled Benjamin’s head and sat back with a sigh. “Well, they’re your sisters. You’ll know better what they’ll ask. Whatever it is, they will be happy to have you back and they’ll loot the larder for a big feast. And all that, that’s the reason why we will not give in to despair, but will face that git of a major tomorrow and send him to hell where he belongs.”

“Do really think that’s possible?” Furtively Benjamin dried his tears. It was bad enough to lie huddled up against this man; he didn't have to behave like a little child.

“It is, trust me,” von Innow said. “This bastard thinks he can play a bad prank at me, but he’s guilty of cowardice in the face of the enemy. His company left the battle already at noon. And the Duke knows about that, because he asked Winter and me where the major’s company was. You’ll see, tomorrow night Hassfurt will be in this prison if not in his grave, and we’ll sit in Mrs. Sommer’s house and have a fine supper and mulled wine. I promise.”

Benjamin doubted that everything would be so easy. But he wished hard. He snuggled against the captain and closed his eyes. _Imagine …_

But there was one disturbing imagine when he saw himself entering the captain’s room. “But you won’t make me pay for beating you, will you?”

“No, I won’t.” Von Innow shook his head. He sighed. “Well, perhaps I deserved one or two of your punches. But, look, we caught you with the enemy’s leaflets, with this whole printer story you were obviously lying at me, and … well, you’re a handsome young man, and the way you frowned at me with all that indignation of yours. It was just too tempting. Was it really that awful?”

Benjamin nodded. “I thought you would kill me.”

“I’m sorry.” Now there were lips on the nape of his neck.

“Captain!” Benjamin called out. In a quiet voice, so that they wouldn’t be overheard outside, he added, “How can you expect the Lord to save us if you keep offending Him with your doings!”

“The Lord isn’t offended by an honest kiss. Perhaps by tying one of his servants on a bed and molesting said servant, but not by a kiss,” von Innow assured.

Benjamin shuddered. “Captain, you will come to a bad end, if you do not repent and mend your ways now!”

Von Innow groaned. “I’m much too tired to discuss the nature of this ‘sin’ right now. But I promise I’ll do. Now let’s sleep and let’s see tomorrow if the Lord really hates us that much.”

“But you’re putting your life at stake as well as your soul, don’t you see it?” Benjamin felt close to tears again. How could a man be so stupid!

“There’s one thing I've wondered about for many years.” Von Innow suppressed a yawn.

“Which thing?”

“Why is it that the worst sinners trust in God’s mercy and to go straight to heaven whereas the church boys have so little faith in their Lord?”

 _Because ‘church boys’ know that the Lord is just! Because ‘church boys’ know that you have to earn His mercy!_ Benjamin shivered. But he wouldn’t tell that to the heretic. It was soothing that at least one of them believed in undeserved miracles.

He closed his eyes and tried to imagine the road up to his village, the neighbours turning at him, welcoming him back. He imagined how he rode into the yard of his parental home. Not on a mule, but on a horse. How his parents would come out of the house, hugging him close, all quarrel forgotten.

Huddling against his hell-bound heretic was a meagre substitute. But Benjamin needed a hug so badly that he turned and pushed his arms under the captain’s jackets hugging the man close.

_Dear Lord, have mercy on this one as well, and please get us out of here!_

# Chapter 24

“I’m really pissed off with you. All of you!” Duke Bernhard of Saxony-Weimar, current commander-in-chief of the Swedish army, glared at von Innow, von Hassfurt, the provost – and even Benjamin got his share of highborn annoyance.

 

 

(Duke Bernhard of Saxe-Weimar, 17th century copperplate print)

 

The Duke himself looked worse for wear. His bleary, reddened eyes and his pale features spoke not so much of sorrow for his officers though, but of a grand hangover.

He sat at the table in von Innow’s room, had awaited them there, to both Benjamin’s and the captain’s surprise. And after his announcement of displeasure, the duke continued to do what he had been doing when his bodyguards had led von Innow and Benjamin in, straight from their prison cell: he leafed through von Innow’s swag books, frowning. Whether that frown was due to the content or due to a headache Benjamin couldn’t tell.

“Now, Innow, what became of your big mouth?” Duke Bernhard said after a while and looked up. “Let’s hope it’s not swollen shut completely, for I’d really like to hear your version of events.”

Von Innow’s face was swollen and purple on the right side, and Benjamin cast down his eyes. The suture had been already lacerated when he had been led into the cell, but for the blood under von Innow’s nose and on his moustache Benjamin felt responsible.

The captain cleared his sore throat. “I would also like to know what these ‘events’ are about,” he said, his voice bristling with anger. “Yesterday, the major, the provost and the quartermaster conspired to cheat me out of a wagonload of oats I ordered and of a horse I won in battle. And when I wouldn’t let them have the horse after I had lost the oats, they had the cheek to arrest me in my quarters for a made-up popish conspiracy! They had me bound like a common thief, and the major had me dragged straight through the town – on foot, like a convicted criminal! In the end they were so impertinent as to lock me up in the town prison – in irons at that! I challenge all three of them to a duel to restore my honour they dragged through the mud in a most intolerable way!”

“Is that all?” The duke leant back in the chair.

Von Innow drew a deep breath, but Duke Bernhard raised his hand. “Hold on, we’d better wait for Captain Winter. Without him this court martial won’t be complete.”

“Court martial?” von Innow repeated, dumbfounded as if he hadn’t expected to be accused for good.

Duke Bernhard pointedly chose not to react to his subordinate’s shocked question, but looked around. “Darn, isn’t there anything here to cure a hangover with?” His gaze fell on the casks.

“If you allow me to call my horse boy, he can serve the wine,” von Innow said, audibly fighting for a calm voice.

The duke gestured at one of the guards who waited at the door to the kitchen. “What’s the boy’s name?”

“Max.”

“I’m here,” came a small voice from behind the crates, and the little Bavarian left his hiding place.

Von Innow grinned, but winced when his lop-sided smile hurt. “Go wash your hands and your face, and then serve the duke some wine.”

The boy pulled a sullen face. “Perhaps there is no more wine left!” Pointing at the provost, he blurted out, “This one and his servant carried away four jars at night! He told the guards to let no-one else into this room. But I was here, and I saw him!”

The provost took a step forward, but thought better of slapping the boy. Duke Bernhard looked mildly amused. “This is getting better and better,” he murmured, twirling the right side of his brown moustache that looked as hung-over as his owner. Addressing the horse boy, he said, “Now, see what’s left, I’m thirsty; and you,” this meant a guard, “look out where Captain Winter is. If he doesn’t feel able to participate I expect at least an excuse.”

 

***

 

The intermission that followed was uncanny. Max served the wine, but only to the duke, his adjutant and to a scribe who cleared the table of the books and stacked them on the floor. Only one book the duke wanted to keep. Craning his neck, Benjamin realized it was the richly decorated Legenda Aurea.

The duke’s adjutant put more chairs in a row with the ones behind the table. Von Hassfurt, the provost and the quartermaster sat down on them. “Now, boy, bring us wine as well!”

Benjamin cast a glance at von Innow. So these scoundrels would be part of the tribunal as well? _Good Lord, no! Then we’re doomed._

The captain’s face gave nothing away. His eyes half closed, he stared at the growing stack of books. Benjamin wondered if von Innow had given in quietly or just feigned indifference. Himself, he felt anything but indifferent now. Afraid, cold, and even hungry, because from the kitchen there was the smell of a rich soup, as there had been every morning. His stomach rumbled. Von Innow turned his face to him, the corner of his mouth twitching into the merest smile. “Yes, breakfast would be fine now.”

But no-one reacted to this remark, because the guard announced that Captain Winter was riding into the yard.

 

***

 

Captain Winter dragged himself in while Max was filling the glasses of the major, the provost, and the quartermaster, scowling thunderously at them.

Winter looked ashen, and his eyes shone with fever. With his good left hand, he awkwardly took off his hat to greet the Duke.

Duke Bernhard gestured at Max to give Captain Winter a glass of wine as well and summoned Winter to take a seat next to his adjutant. “How are you?” His narrow face showed sincere concern.

“Not well, Sir.” Winter took his seat. “The wound is getting gangrenous. As soon as we’re finished here my surgeon will take the arm off.”

“Would you rather not participate in this trial?” Duke Bernhard suggested.

“No,” Winter refused, raising his good hand. “I’ll manage.” He cast a sad look at von Innow. It made Benjamin wonder if their conviction was already settled.

 

***

 

“Well, then,” Duke Bernhard nodded at his scribe. “Let’s begin. Gentlemen, first of all:  You all have done me a great disservice! The Swedish generals are discussing handing over the supreme command to my brother Wilhelm for no other reason than that he precedes me in rank and age, and in this delicate situation the officers of my own regiment have nothing better to do than to disgrace me by fighting each other instead of supporting my cause by immaculate behaviour! Consider my patience with you strained, and don’t get on my nerves with long speeches. I want this case solved by noon; I have another talk with the Swedish commanders then.”

 _Oh damn,_ Benjamin thought. This was getting worse and worse.

The Duke gestured at the provost. The provost rose, casting a sullen glance at his superior. He looked like as if he had planned for a great speech and had been stopped short before even saying a word.

“To be brief,” he said sourly. “From interrogating a subject that happened to be a former servant of Captain von Innow, we learnt that said captain had devoted himself to the capital offence of sodomy for several years. When we sought out the captain to investigate these charges we found another man in his bed, and this time a Jesuit at that! Over and above that, there were popish books around everywhere! Therefore, I charge Captain Kai von Innow with sodomy and with conspiracy with the enemy.”

“That’s complete and utter rubbish!” von Innow snapped.

The duke raised a hand. “To all of you: I have a terrible headache, and I won’t have any shouting here. That is, the one who thinks it necessary to shout can do that while being flogged in front of the regiment. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Sir.” Von Innow hung his head, and the other officers nodded gracefully. Benjamin wagered that they expected only von Innow to shout.

“Now, Captain,” the duke said. “As I said, I’d like to hear your version.”

Von Innow squared his shoulders and looked his superior in the eye. “Your Highness, there is no popish conspiracy, but a conspiracy against me. Major von Hassfurt has held a grudge against me since I called him a coward during the battle at Nuremberg. While we managed to break into Wallenstein’s fortifications on the hill, the major and his company turned their horses and fled as the artillery took us under fire. And in the recent battle at Lützen, he pulled his company out of the attack after the third charge.”

“What does that have to do with the accusations against you?” the major hissed.

“I’ll tell you,” von Innow said, not able to keep the sneer out of his voice. “I came to the conclusion that all your recent actions have had no other aim than to prevent me from accusing you for cowardice!”

Turning to his commander he said, “And that’s what I do, your Highness: I accuse Major von Hassfurt of cowardice in the face of the enemy, of leaving the charging regiment and of causing many casualties in my company and in Captain Winter’s and in every other captain’s company by doing so.”

“That is…” von Hassfurt jumped up, clutching his rapier.

“Sadly enough,” von Innow went on, “these other captains are dead by now and can’t testify my statement, because our striking power was weakened due to von Hassfurt’s retreat so that we lost many more men than necessary.”

The major fought visibly for control. “Now, that’s a nice try, I have to say!” he spat. “As if a bugger like you still had the right to charge an officer and nobleman!”

“Gentlemen!” With his knuckles, the duke knocked on the table and glared at the major. “Sit down and watch your language!”

Then he turned to Captain von Innow. “Right now, we’re sitting in judgement on _you_ , Innow. Therefore you’ll answer to the crimes held against you. When we’re finished with this, you may charge the major. And it doesn’t need the late captains’ testimony, I noticed myself that your company was gone during the afternoon, Hassfurt!”

Almost pouting, the major sat down again. _Gotcha!_ Benjamin bit his lower lip to suppress a triumphant grin. His good mood vanished, however, when the duke pointed at him: “What’s in this talk about a Jesuit conspiracy?”

“That is as far-fetched as is everything else in this case, Sir,” von Innow answered in a serene voice. “This young man is Benjamin Kenneberg. He’s a student of the Jesuits, but not a priest or a Jesuit himself. The major took him prisoner after the battle and gave him to me, apparently for my bravery in battle, or so he sent me word by the soldier who brought the prisoner. The books, however, were a haul from looting a monastery in Bavaria. They have nothing to do with the prisoner …”

“Nothing to do?” the major interfered. “I told you to let this popish stuff burn!”

“After your men had already plundered the church, the houses, stables, and barns!” von Innow retorted. “These books were all we could grab there, whereas you and your men had not left a single turnip!”

“I caught you _reading_ these books!” von Hassfurt exclaimed, careful not to shout right away. He jumped up as if he could make his point only when standing. “And that prisoner was in your _bed_!”

“Where else would one put a man with a fever if not into a bed, and mine happens to be the only one in this house at the moment,” von Innow said in a cold voice.

The duke cast a glance at said bed. Benjamin looked at it as well. Someone had made it: straightened the blankets and shaken up the pillow. It looked neat and welcoming. He didn’t dare imagine what the duke might think about it.

“What you forgot to mention, however,” the major said smugly, “is that you had this boy in your bed even before the battle!”

At the duke’s astonished gaze, von Hassfurt asked. “Do you remember Innow reporting that he had caught a printer’s apprentice with saddlebags full of anti-Swedish leaflets?”

Seeing his superior nod, von Hassfurt continued, “That was the same boy! Innow kept him hidden in his tent, though I had specifically told him to hand over his prisoner to the executioner for interrogation, because I didn’t trust this printer apprentice story from the beginning. But as too often, Innow ignored my orders. And from interrogating that Jesuit last night we learned that they committed sodomy right then!”

Benjamin squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head in despair. _Lord, no! Why couldn’t I keep my mouth shut!_

“On top of that,” the major explained, “Innow didn’t restrain the boy in the least. So when we marched off to battle, this Jesuit – apprentice or not, he’s a Jesuit anyway – this foe of God sneaked out of the camp, stealing a valuable bible from the captain at that. Then he sold this gospel for a horse and overtook our army at a breakneck speed to warn his army. I don’t know if it was simply stupidity or even resolve on Innow’s side not to lock up the prisoner, but he _is_ responsible that the enemy was warned of our advance!”

Benjamin shook his head, clenching his fists. “No!”

“What no?” Duke Bernhard asked with an edge. When Benjamin looked up, he saw the duke watch him with a mix of curiosity and disgust, as if he were a remarkable specimen of rat or spider.

Benjamin drew a deep breath. _Don’t muck this up!_ _Admit only what they can prove!_

“It’s true that I ran to warn my army,” he admitted. “However, they were already on alert. I ran into a reconnaissance party of Isolani’s redcoats who took me to their commander. When we made it there, the Generals Isolani and Colloredo were already planning how to delay your advance at the Rippach. They wouldn’t even listen to me, but sent me back to Lützen with some of the redcoats.”

“But you are a Jesuit?” Duke Bernhard asked.

Benjamin worried his lower lip for a moment. The Dukes of Saxony-Weimar were Calvinists, the worst sort within the heretic movement. Certainly, they would hate the Jesuits even more than the Lutheran Swedes would do …

“Is that such a difficult question?” the Duke frowned.

“It’s a bit difficult to explain,” Benjamin stalled. “I’m a scholasticus, that is an apprentice of sorts. The Jesuits are an Order of priests, and I’m no priest yet. So it would be pretentious to call myself a Jesuit.”

“But you intend to become one?”

Should he explain the family tradition to the Duke? Claim that he was just with the Jesuits because their school was the best one in Mainz? No, he would not deny his Order! But unbidden, he remembered Father Michael’s reproach that not everyone was good enough to join the Society of Jesus. And that gave him another idea.

“Yes, I want to become a priest. But for the time being, all I did was my apostolic ministry, a time to prove one’s worth before studying theology. During the battle, I took care of the wounded, by the windmills. I don’t know what Major von Hassfurt did during the day. But at nightfall, when the looting of the battlefield started, he was back, and he gave order to kill all the wounded men I was responsible for!”

Benjamin drew a deep breath and squared his shoulders like the captain had done. “Therefore, before this court martial and before God I accuse Major von Hassfurt of killing about a hundred helpless, wounded men. Men who were not able to fight back when they were slain. Men who might have recovered, however, and joined your army when taken prisoner, and…”

Duke Bernhard raised a hand. “Enough!”

Addressing the major he asked, “Why didn’t you kill this one?” From the tone of his voice, Benjamin deduced that the duke considered him a mere annoyance that better had been squashed at once.

“Because this one told me that von Innow had granted them quarter!” von Hassfurt sneered, nodding in the captain’s direction.

“Did you?” The duke squinted his eyes when scrutinizing his Captain.

“No!” Von Innow shook his head with vigour. “I had no idea that Benjamin had left our camp, until the major came and brought him along.”

“That Jesuit admitted to have stolen a gold-plated gospel to exchange it for a horse,” the major added. “And yet Innow didn’t kill him, as anybody would do in such a case of treachery! But no, Innow took him to his bed. There! And if that’s not proof enough, the boy himself told us that Innow raped him, the night before the battle in his tent!”

“No!” Benjamin called. “That’s not true!”

“So didn’t you tell us yesterday how Innow had stripped you, groped you and touched you ‘everywhere’?” the provost asked haughtily. “I have the minutes of your interrogation. Shall I read them?” He waved a piece of paper about.

“It …” Helplessly, Benjamin looked at von Innow. The captain’s lips were a thin line.

“It wasn’t that way!” Benjamin turned to the duke. “The Major is exaggerating and twisting everything in a way that makes it sound like a crime…”

“He also said that Captain Winter came along and witnessed that crime,” the provost went on with glee. Baffled, the duke turned to Captain Winter.

“Is that true?”

Winter groaned. Benjamin didn’t know whether it was with pain or due to his testimony. “I went to Captain von Innow because I had to ask him a question about the schedule for the next day. He was having supper. He had this young man in his tent, bound, and that seemed strange to me, but of actual sodomy I saw nothing.” With a wry grin he added, “Actually, Innow was severely drunk; even if he _intended_ to sin after supper I doubt he would have been able to.”

That statement made even the duke chuckle.

The major, however, frowned thunderously. “And why are this one’s hips black and blue?” He pointed at Benjamin. “The executioner says he was raped!”

“But by the redcoats! I told you!” Benjamin snapped. “The captain just …”

“Just what?” the Duke asked.

“I took him to my bed, but I did not rape him,” von Innow said. “I hoped he would lay with me – you know the things they say about Catholic church boys –, but he wouldn’t. True, I kissed and groped him a little, but that was all. And he wasn’t in it voluntarily at all. I had to bind him. The fault lies with me in this affair, not with him.”

“But your former servant said that you lay with him for about three years!” The provost unfolded another piece of paper. “Sinning with him against nature in every way possible!”

“My former servant Alexander is accused of murder. And as the dishonest scoundrel he turned out to be, he would say anything if you promised him to spare him the gallows,” von Innow stated in a cold voice. “Sadly enough you’re one of those who cheated me on the oats and tried to extort that Neapolitan charger from me. Therefore I question any of the evidence and interrogation protocols you will present here!”

Yet Benjamin wondered if Alexander hadn’t spoken truth in this.

“What Neapolitan charger?” the duke demanded to know.

“A huge dapple grey stallion I won in battle,” von Innow said. “I would be an honour for me if you accepted that horse, because it’s worthy of a duke. Sadly enough I couldn’t spot it in my stable when I was led from the prison to here. In case it incidentally found its way into the major’s stable in the meantime, it’s easy to discern because it has lost the tip of its right ear during the battle and has a cut on the left side of its neck. Otherwise it was safe and sound when I last saw it.”

The Duke grinned while the major changed colour to an unhealthy purple.

“You god-awful bugger dare accuse me of horse-theft?” von Hassfurt roared. “You dare …”

A sharp knock on the table interrupted him.

“But this horse is in the major’s stable,” Max piped up. “And Fritz went with him.”

“May that bastard stay there,” von Innow murmured.

The duke leant back into his chair. “Someone was quite certain that Captain von Innow would be convicted, wasn’t he?” He winked at the major with a smirk.

“Sir!” the major bristled. “Without any doubt Innow is guilty of this awful crime! Everybody knew he was a sodomite since his servant sat down on his lap during that revelry in Augsburg and kissed him for everyone to see!”

“And everyone considered it drunken fun and had a good laugh at my expense,” von Innow interrupted him. “Including you, Hassfurt! Just now, when there was a chance to grow even richer by cheating me you discovered morals and thought it a cheap shot to get rid of me!”

“Yet it is a sin that offends our Lord and it’s a capital offence as well!” the major insisted. Turning at the duke he exclaimed, “Everybody knows that the Lord will make us pay for tolerating such a sinner in our ranks! One might expect the usual punishment like thunderstorms or crop failures or even another invasion by the Turks. But who can tell that the demise of King Gustavus Adolphus wasn’t the Lord’s punishment that came upon us for tolerating this one’s perverted crime!”

“That’s outrageous!” von Innow barked. “The king is dead because of a lack of bodyguards and his own daring!”

“I told you not to shout!” the duke called. Furiously, he glared from von Innow to the major and back.

“Whatever the reasons may be,” von Hassfurt said in a calm voice. “The Swedish generals might ask questions if we arrest Innow first and release him then. And his crime is evident. He doesn’t deny it himself. And as for this Jesuit, well, everybody knows that they are notorious for sodomy as well.”

“That’s a god-damn Protestant propaganda lie!” Benjamin stated, careful not to shout. “You …”

“Shut up, or you’ll hang right now!” the duke snapped.

Benjamin raised his hands. He was about to exclaim ‘The Lord is my witness that I’m not guilty of this!’ when his own devil reared his head, cackling at him: ‘Well, weren't you the one who hoped the captain might rape you just a little to have an excuse to sin?’

With a heartfelt sigh he let his hands drop, cast a helpless glance at von Innow. The captain looked none the wiser.

“The simple fact that Innow took his so-called prisoner back into his bed after he had stolen from him proves that there’s something fishy about it,” the major went on. “No man of honour would do such a thing, but kill the thief at once!”

“Not if he has to buy some new horses and a cuirass while his paymaster has been withholding the pay for three months!” von Innow growled. “That makes even a man of honour think about how to raise money, and be it by ransom for a thief.”

“But I would expect a thief locked-up in the cellar, not sharing your bed.” The major pointed at the alleged scene of crime.

With dread, Benjamin saw the duke curl his lips in disgust.

Winter raised a hand. “Gentlemen,” he asked in a silent voice.

“Yes, Captain?”

“Your Highness, we might go on for hours like this,” Winter said. “If you give me a moment I might bring in a witness who can at least give testimony of the things that happened or did not happen since we came here to Weissenfels.”

“And who would that be?” The major frowned warily at the wounded Captain.

“Mrs. Sommer, the owner of this house.” With a glance at his servant, Winter said, “As far as I know she had tended to the ill Jesuit and also shared this room with the captain. Maybe she can shed some light on this affair where we can only guess.”

“Then I have Innow’s former servant brought in as well!” the major insisted.

“A man who awaits the gallows is scarcely a witness,” the duke said. “But it might be interesting to hear what this woman has to say.”

# Chapter 25

Mrs. Sommer was drying her hands on her apron when Captain Winter ushered her into the room.

To Benjamin, she looked more care-worn than ever. She cast anxious glances first at von Innow and Benjamin, then at the officers at the table.

Captain Winter returned to his place and sat down.

“You are Mrs. Sommer, the owner of this house?” Duke Bernhard asked.

She nodded, letting go of he apron and smoothing it out.

“Where’s your husband, Mrs. Sommer, and what’s your station in this town?”

“My husband was the late master carpenter Erwin Sommer. He was abducted by the Imperials last year, forced to join their sappers. But as I learnt during the recent occupation, he died there after two months due a fever. I hoped all the time he might return, and I continued to run our trade. As for my station, I hold a place in the carpenters’ guild. Unfortunately, this time the Imperials took away my journeymen and apprentices.” Weaving her fingers she asked, “Is it true? Are you the Duke of Weimar?”

Duke Bernhard seemed surprised at being questioned himself. “I am Duke _Bernhard_ of Saxony-Weimar, the commander of the Protestant army.”

“Could you negotiate on behalf of my journeymen then?” Mrs. Sommer curtseyed. “I really need them to continue my trade!”

“Madam, that’s not why I’m here. Please ask your guild and your mayor in this matter! You were brought in as a witness in a court martial.”

Mrs. Sommer sighed in disappointment and nodded.

“Captain von Innow who took quarters in your house is accused of sodomy and of conspiring with the Imperials,” Duke Bernhard stated bluntly. “Do you know what sodomy is, Mrs. Sommer?”

The widow blushed. “A sin.”

Seeing the duke nodding to go on, she added carefully, “A sin one doesn’t speak of.”

“Unfortunately we have to speak of this sin,” Duke Bernhard insisted. “Could you explain what constitutes this sin?”

“When a man doesn’t … well, with his wife, but with another man.” She covered her mouth with a hand. “Or with an animal.”

“Right. Forget about the animal, we’re investigating if Captain von Innow has lain with his prisoner, that Jesuit. And I don’t mean if they just shared a bed, but sinned with each other. Did you notice anything like that?”

Mrs. Sommer frowned at him. “No! I did not. I share this room with them, sleeping here with my daughters. The captain behaves extraordinarily well for a soldier and keeps good discipline among his soldiers and their wives. And I assure you, I know a lot of this because I've had my share of occupations and all the misery that goes with them!”

“Where do you sleep in this room?” the major interrupted her. “For three people and some children this bed is rather small.”

“I don’t share the bed with the men, what do you think of me!” Mrs. Sommer’s voice rose with indignation. “We pushed all these chairs together, creating a cot. My children are still small, six and four years old, we manage.”

“But in the dark you can’t see what’s going on in the bed,” the major implied with a smirk.

Mrs. Sommer frowned at him, pursing her lips.

“Well, that doesn’t mean anything.” The major turned to the duke, waving dismissively at the witness. “They might have sinned as well.”

“The only one who sins here is you!” The widow took a step towards the major and put her hands on her hips. “And your sin is called bearing false witness! Do you think I don’t know how you men sound and smell when you are in lust? I was married twice, and I had to put up with these animals of the Imperial army who occupied my house before your soldiers moved in!”

She pointed at von Innow and Benjamin. “These men did nothing like that! And if you,” with that she addressed the officers at the table, “want to talk such godless things you better leave my house right now, do you hear me!”

“Loud and clear, Madam.” Duke Bernhard pinched the bridge of his nose. “Thank you for your testimony. You may go now.”

Shaking with agitation, Mrs. Sommer turned and left the room in a hurry, red in her face and her eyes kept fixed on the floor. 

Benjamin was amazed. She hadn’t given them away! Despite the fact that he had told her clearly enough what he expected von Innow to do. But what the captain hadn’t done – be it out of respect for the widow or out of consideration for him …

His gaze met von Innow’s. The captain looked surprised as well.

“What now?” he heard Captain Winter ask.

“What now, what now!” the major sneered. “As if we didn't have evidence enough! That Jesuit’s testimony, Innow’s own admission, all these Catholic books! I say burn them! Both the buggers and the popish stuff!”

“Yes, you’d like that, wouldn’t you!” von Innow called out. “Covering all your crimes by getting rid of the witnesses! You ran away when the enemy gave fire, you tried to cheat me as you cheated the whole regiment out of their pay for months!”

“Silence!” the duke barked. He glared at both the captain and the major. Then he opened the Legenda Aurea that lay in front of him. Benjamin hoped that the many illustrations depicting executions of the saints would not give the duke ideas.

“What did you want to do with these books, Innow?” Duke Bernhard asked.

“Sell them,” the captain answered with a shrug. “After all, I need horses and a new cuirass, and some coins in my pouch would feel good, too.”

“Do you already have a potential buyer?”

“No, I only spent last afternoon having a look at what I had got at all. Mrs. Sommer, however, suggested that the local deacon could give me some advice on their worth. And I was wondering if these Swedish scholars were still around, the ones the late King had with him to assess the libraries in the Catholic towns.”

Seeing the major wince, von Innow added in a stern voice, “King Gustavus Adolphus valued this so-called ‘popish stuff’ enough to have it shipped to Sweden. They say they will found a university with them. So these books can’t be that evil, if good Lutheran students of theology will read them!”

The mention of ‘good Lutheran students’ seemed to arouse the duke’s displeasure. Benjamin frowned at von Innow. That had been careless: the captain should know that as a Calvinist his superior would not look forward to seeing more Lutheran preachers condemn his own shade of heresy.

“As far as I know, the Duke of Wolfenbüttel also collects books,” Duke Bernhard mused. “It’s said he'd rather hide in his library than take care of the war.”

“I would be honoured to offer him the books because it would keep them within the Empire,” von Innow assured, and Benjamin fought to keep a straight face when the captain used his own argument. Wolfenbüttel was said to be one of the biggest Protestant strongholds in northern Germany, but with the help of the Lord the Imperial army would conquer it and bring the books back.

“Well, then,” the Duke shut the Legenda Aurea and handed it to the scribe to clear the table. “I think there’s no such thing as a ‘popish conspiracy’ concerning these books, but a mere matter of ignoring the major’s order to burn them.”

“But it doesn’t excuse his wallowing in sodomy for years!” the major injected.

“Right.” Duke Bernhard worried his lower lip, staring into empty space for a moment before he looked the captain in the eye. “Do you have anything else to say in your defence, Innow? Perhaps these boys,” he pointed at Benjamin, but obviously meant Alexander too, “bewitched you?”

The captain swallowed hard, looking shaken.

 _God, no!_ Benjamin gasped for air. The duke was offering his captain a way out. But if they interrogated him for witchcraft, there wouldn’t be any restriction in torture until they had the statement they wanted to achieve. He stared at the captain, pleading. _Don’t do that to me!_

Von Innow cast him a glance, drew a deep breath, and shook his head then. “No, Sir, I don’t think so. Of course I know it’s a sin, and I assure you I often fought it, but sometimes I can’t help thinking that … well, that God just made me this way.”

“Have you gone mad!” Duke Bernhard beat the table top with the flat of his hand.

The captain spread his hands in a helpless gesture and said in a small voice. “It’s just … like some men have a predilection for blond women, others prefer brunettes, others are more interested if the lady in question is a voluptuous one or not, and … well, some men just get tempted by a handsome lad. It’s…”

“ _If a man also lie with mankind, as he lieth with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination: they shall surely be put to death; their blood shall be upon them_ ,“ Duke Bernhard quoted in a stern voice.

“And yet King David said that Jonathan’s love for him passed the love of women. Therefore …”

“Innow!” Duke Bernhard barked, “You will not quote the Holy Bible at me nor your own godless misinterpretations! Out! With both of them!” The latter was directed at the guards.

 _Lord! How can anyone be such a fool!_ Benjamin felt like shouting at von Innow and punching him in the nose again. But the guards closed in, and von Innow turned and strode to the kitchen. Puzzlement and despair were written across his features; it was clear to see that he realized that he made a grave mistake, but couldn’t understand how.

Benjamin didn’t feel calmed by that sight, however. How could one be so stupid to make a connection like that! Everybody knew that the difference between committing no sin and committing sodomy was the question where one poured one’s semen. The only appropriate place was the womb of one’s married wife. Everywhere else – be it one’s own belly, mankind or an animal – was an abomination, there was no doubt about it.

Seeing the crackling logs on the fireplace in the kitchen, Benjamin saw himself already at the stake. If the duke showed mercy, von Innow as a nobleman would be beheaded first. But a Jesuit? Probably burnt on an extra small heap of wood to prolong his agony. They wouldn’t forego the sick fun of tormenting him – that was certain.

Shivering, Benjamin hugged himself. _Lord, get me out of here! I swear, I’ll be the best priest you ever had, I’ll stay away from any sin from now on, but please have mercy and save me!_

 

***

 

Everything around him seemed to happen in a fog. The soldiers stared at their captain, not knowing how to greet him. Their miens spoke of bad conscience; certainly they had been listening at the door and the walls.

The sergeant’s wife broke the spell, hurrying towards von Innow, “Captain, good Lord, what have they done to you! Hilde, bring water and a cloth! Where’s the surgeon?”

The other women got into gear, and their husbands as well. Benjamin was put on a stool as the captain was, Fischer hurried to bring them beer while his wife ladled soup from the kettle into bowls.

The corporal of the guards growled that breakfast for the prisoners was certainly not intended, but the sergeant’s wife barked at him: “Intended? I don't give a damn about ‘intended’! It’s breakfast time and everybody will eat! Now!” Gesturing at the kitchen maids she gave order to serve soup to the guards as well.

The guards’ grins proved that they were willing to ignore orders in this matter if the servings where just big enough.

Von Innow had barely managed to fend the sergeant’s wife off in order to wash himself. Over a cloth pressed to his swollen cheek he looked at Benjamin and told the cook under his breath: “Give him hose and breeches, and a soldier’s jacket, not his you-know-what.”

The next moment Benjamin was supplied with clothes, and someone brushed stray straws from his back.

“Get dressed!” von Innow urged him.

 _What for?_ Benjamin thought. _To survive some more nights in the dungeon before they light the fire?_

A pair of rough hands pulled him to his feet. “Move!” von Innow’s sergeant barked at him.

All right, if they insisted … Benjamin stepped out of his shoes to put on hose and breeches.

The door to the room where the duke sat opened, and the major dashed out, glaring daggers at everyone present. He left the house, shouting at his servant, “My horse!”

Well, at least this one was gone! Benjamin pulled up his breeches, bound the cord at his waist. A blue jacket was held out to him. Of course it was less suspicious-looking than a cassock now, yet he wondered if a good Jesuit wouldn’t insist on the garb of his station. He shrugged into the jacket. It would be warm, plain enough and he wouldn't have to deal with lots of buttons.

The sergeant pushed him back on the stool, pressed a bowl of soup in his hands. “Eat!”

Benjamin cast a glance at von Innow. The captain held his own bowl of soup, but didn’t seem to be eager to eat either. One of the women took his blood-stained collar and fetched a fresh one from the clothes-line, and Master Rudolf stood at the ready, drenching a cloth in brandy.

Von Innow almost spilled the soup when that cloth was pressed on the broken suture. He shouted out with pain.

“I’m sorry, Sir,” Master Rudolf said. “But I found that brandy works better to clean a wound than wine.”

“Yes, by killing the patient right away!” But the captain endured the treatment, even when the broken sutures were removed.

Another nudge distracted Benjamin from watching the surgeon work. “Now eat!” the sergeant repeated. “You don’t know when you’ll get your next meal.”

Benjamin stared at him, and his hands started to shake. _Maybe this is my last one …_

“Come on, Benjamin,” von Innow encouraged. “A soldier, from whatever army he may be, can eat under all circumstances.”

 _Yes, and one spoonful for the Duke of Saxony-Weimar …_ Close to tears with helplessness, Benjamin stabbed the spoon into the bowl. The kitchen maids had meant well: they had ladled the meat from the bottom of the kettle for them.

He forced himself to chew, to swallow. His throat felt strangled. He cast a glance at the guards. They were wolfing down the soup with good appetite, but held their gazes fixed on the prisoners and their halberds close at hand. Though these were not the same men as yesterday, after the fight the captain had given their comrades they were on alert. Hurling a soup bowl at them and taking a run would be hopeless. An especially sturdy soldier blocked the door.

Benjamin cast another glance at all the fussing that was made about von Innow. Did his soldiers and their wives really care for him, or was that the attentiveness they would show to a man who was sentenced to death?

But it seemed to be the former: the cook just filled a big dish with soup and ordered the ‘gals’ to carry plates and spoons, and thus they went to the duke without asking if their service was welcome at all.

It was: they came back empty-handed and no-one had shouted at them. So they were horse-trading with breakfast soup on their captain’s behalf. Benjamin had not much hope left, but perhaps, perhaps … He choked on the next spoonful. _Dear Lord, have mercy upon us!_

 

***

 

After a while the major returned. He cast a sour glance at everyone present in the kitchen. Seeing von Innow eat, he muttered something under his breath, probably a curse.

He went to the duke, and after a moment Duke Bernhard left the room, summoning von Innow.

With his face washed and in a fresh collar, the captain looked much more respectable. Benjamin hoped that this fact would influence the duke’s opinion positively.

But what the duke’s appearance really was about, Benjamin learnt a moment later. Out of curiosity, nobody had closed the door behind the officers. Duke Bernhard stepped on the top of the stairwell leading down to the yard. “Is this horse the one you were talking about?”

“Yes it is, Sir,” von Innow said. “I won it in the second-to-last attack, and it served me well in the last one. It’s a really brave charger and very well trained, a joy to ride. As I said, it would be an honour if you accepted this horse.”

The duke nodded. Graciously, as Benjamin supposed. Seeing only their backs, he was dying to know what kind of gazes the two men on the stairs exchanged while they looked at each other.

When Duke Bernhard returned to the kitchen his face gave away nothing. Von Innow still looked concerned.

 _Well, did you really think you could buy your way out of this mess with a horse?_ Benjamin wondered.

“Bring the accused in,” Duke Bernhard told the corporal of his guard.

Benjamin’s guts cramped. He pressed his soup bowl into the first pair of hands in reach. He was about to ask if he could go to the privy first, but a fist closed around his arm, and one of the guards dragged him into the room behind the kitchen.

# Chapter 26

Everybody in the room frowned at them. The major and the provost furiously, Winter in a pained way, and the quartermaster obviously because they disturbed him stuffing himself with the last serving from the dish. As soon as the quartermaster was finished, the scribe cleared the table of the plates and the empty dish. Then he sat down, dipped his quill into the inkpot and looked expectantly at Duke Bernhard.

The duke folded his hands. “Captain von Innow,” he said in an official tone of voice, “you were charged with sodomy, and you were found guilty. You admitted the crime yourself and there were witnesses.”

Von Innow cast down his eyes. He heaved a sigh and nodded faintly.

“On top of that, you showed no signs of remorse, and I will not repeat what you said about the Holy Bible.”

 _There!_ Benjamin thought, _So much for your horse-trading! Have you ever thought you would get away with that crime?_

Now there was regret on the heretic’s face. But Benjamin wondered if von Innow regretted his naivety more than his crime.

“Do you have anything to say concerning this judgement?”

Von Innow hung his head. “No, Sir.”

“Well,” Duke Bernhard seemed to be satisfied seeing the captain finally falter. “As for your punishment, the law is quite clear: the convicted are to be burnt at the stake.”

Duke Bernhard cast another scrutinizing gaze at the captain. Benjamin wondered. Was the duke waiting for contradiction or a plea for clemency?

Von Innow looked up, his face sad, but he said nothing as if it would cost his last scrap of dignity to ask for mercy.

 _Do it, you fool!_ Benjamin raged in silence.

But the captain didn’t say a word.

Duke Bernhard gave him a wry grin. “And obviously you are too obstinate to ask for clemency. You don’t make it easy for me.”

Duke Bernhard grasped his tumbler and gulped down the wine. “Well, then. In view of the bravery you showed in all the battles you fought under my command, and to teach certain people a lesson,” with that he nodded at the major and the provost, “I claim my right to outvote the judgement of this court and sentence you to the following: you will be discharged from my army, and you have to leave town right now. You will not join any other regiment within this army, and should you try to do so, you shall be burnt at the stake as if there had been no act of clemency at all.”

Duke Bernhard raised a hand to stop the provost from blurting out. “Furthermore, your possession goes to the regiment. You are allowed to leave on horseback, and you may take from your personal belongings armour, weapons, and clothing as much as you can carry on that one horse. This does not include the books; they are all confiscated.”

“But, Sir, this is …” the provost jumped up.

“What is it?” Duke Bernhard said in a cold voice. “Don’t blame me for my clemency, because other people might have to rely on it as well!”

“You let him get away with his abomination!” The major scowled at his superior. “The Lord’s anger will come upon us!”

“Pray that my anger doesn’t come upon you, Hassfurt!” the Duke growled. “You, the provost and the quartermaster will report at my quarters as soon as we are done here. Then we’ll discuss this matter in detail, I promise you. In _full_ detail!”

The last sentence sounded menacingly enough to make the major shut up and the provost sit down. Duke Bernhard seemed to enjoy his victory. With a smug smile he turned to von Innow. “I suppose you agree with these conditions?”

“I do, your Highness. Thank you!” With visible relief, von Innow bowed to the duke.

“Good.”

Not good, however, was Benjamin’s foreboding when he saw Duke Bernhard frown at him.

“The Jesuit Kenneberg will be hanged with the next execution party this afternoon.”

 _No!_ Benjamin wanted to contradict, but all he could do was to gape at Duke Bernhard. The duke leant over to his adjutant, talking to him under his breath and pointing at the provost, as if all procedure concerning the ‘Jesuit Kenneberg’ was already finished. _No, you can’t do this! If you let the captain go, why not me? Why?_

“Sir,” he managed to croak. “What have I done? I mean, I’m just a prisoner …”

The duke looked up at him with disgust. “’Just a prisoner’ who wants to become a Jesuit priest. I'd rather have the cubs culled before dealing with the wolves.” He summoned the guards. “Take him back to the prison!”

Von Innow took a step forward. “Sir, please, a word with you.”

“You’re not going to plead for clemency for this one, Innow!” Duke Bernhard’s tone held a clear warning to back up.

“Then I won’t plead, Sir,“ von Innow said. “But as it happens this man is my prisoner. As such, he is part of my personal belongings, and he’ll certainly fit on my horse.”

“Two men on a horse. How nice!” the major sneered.

“Shut up!” the Duke barked at him. He jumped up, strode to von Innow and slapped the captain in the face. Von Innow stumbled a step back.

“What do you think you’re doing, you cur!” Duke Bernhard roared. “I reprieve you, and you have the impertinence to mock me?”

“I didn’t mean to mock you, Sir, not in the least,” von Innow assured, holding his cheek and staring wide-eyed at his superior.

Then, he suddenly dropped to one knee. “I have offended you, and severely at that, your Highness, and I ask your forgiveness. It’s just … I wasn’t that lucky looting during this year’s campaign, I’ve got no pay, and with these books confiscated I’m left with nothing I could sell to make a living during the winter. All I could turn into money would be the prisoner.”

“Who happens to be your catamite!”

“He is not!” von Innow protested. “He considers me despicable, god-forsaken and called me names I won’t repeat.”

“You don’t say! What if I give you the books and have the Jesuit taken to the gallows?”

With a weary sigh, von Innow hung his head.

“I thought so.” Duke Bernhard crossed his arms in front of his chest. He gazed at Benjamin with a mien that spoke of murder.

Benjamin wondered if he should kneel down, too. Or would the duke get even more furious if he imitated von Innow?

Duke Bernhard scrutinized him from head to toe. Benjamin ducked his head, trying to plead for leniency. His teachers had told him to stand tall and proud when suffering martyrdom. How to ask a heretic for a chance to sneak away like a coward had not been part of their lessons.

Duke Bernhard’s face didn’t get any friendlier while watching him. Then the duke turned to von Innow.

“Well, take him and get lost! If you’re still in town after one hour, you’ll be burnt. Both of you!”

Von Innow bowed to his superior, but the Duke was already striding to the door. There he turned and pointed at his adjutant: “You supervise this: one horse, the Jesuit, no books! And that wine is to be delivered to my quarters with no further losses!”

Summoning his scribe as well as the ‘unholy trinity’ of major, provost, and quartermaster, Duke Bernhard left the room. The scribe not only had to grab his utensils, but also saved the Duke’s hat from being forgotten in this rush.

 

***

 

 

The door closed with a loud bang. Von Innow stood up, groaning and clearly not used to kneeling on the floor. He looked devastated.

“Thank you,” Benjamin said in a small voice. Glancing at the adjutant he wondered whether this officer could undo the duke’s act of clemency if he said something wrong now.

Von Innow didn’t look at him, but at Captain Winter who rose with a moan and put on his hat.

Captain Winter went to the door, followed by his servant.

“Thank you for speaking up for me,” von Innow said.

Winter raised his good hand as if he wouldn’t tolerate being addressed by von Innow at all. But by the door he looked back, shaking his head. “You’re the biggest fool I ever met, Innow.”

With that he left, and the captain made a face as if he had been slapped again.

“You'd better pack,” the adjutant advised in a cool voice, crossing his arms in front of his chest.


	5. Chapter 5

# Chapter 27

The Captain had been allowed one horse. But did it have to be this one? From the top of the stairwell Benjamin stared at the coarse-coated draught horse that might have made a poor peasant proud, but certainly not a cavalry man.

The duke’s adjutant had mounted his well-groomed charger already, and he wasn't hiding the sneer on his face when von Innow strapped his saddlebags on this poor excuse for a mount called Liese.

The sergeant had praised the mare as sturdy and reliable when von Innow had asked for the strongest horse from the stable. Sturdy she was, and her reliability seemed to express itself in the fact that the beast didn’t move an ear when von Innow threw his rolled-up blankets and his coat behind the saddle and tied them with a leather strap.

The blankets, the sodden coat, his spare clothes and shoes and the few old letters from his trunk, stuffed into two saddlebags, was all that the captain was allowed as baggage. When he had been about to take the silver cutlery from the table drawer, the adjutant had objected: “The duke didn’t mention taking silver.”

Iron, however, was allowed. Von Innow was in his full cuirass. Unlike the evening before the battle, he even wore the armguards in order to take his full cuirass with him. He carried his rapier and dagger, and he had a pair of pistols in front of the saddle, together with the powder flask, bullet pouch and spanner. He looked as if he was riding into battle – if it hadn’t been for this sleepy plough horse. And the missing sash.

The long scarf had ended up in the saddle bags, however. Von Innow had refused it when the sergeant helped him to put on the cuirass, but the sergeant had stuffed the light blue fabric into the baggage, murmuring something about expensive silk that would always sell.

Von Innow had ignored him, his face frozen. And frozen it still was when the captain mounted the horse. He turned to Benjamin, held out a hand. “Move.”

Yes, it was time to move. The adjutant left no doubt about it that the one hour the duke had given them was running out pretty fast.

Awkwardly, Benjamin climbed from the stairwell onto the horse. He had to sit on top of the blankets, behind the saddle. He didn’t dare put his hands anywhere near the captain. The furious glares of von Innow’s soldiers were directed at him, the Jesuit, as the source of all evil, not at their captain.

Max asked the sergeant in a desperate voice: “Sergeant, Sir, if we do hang that Papist right now, perhaps the duke will allow us to keep the captain?”

“Don’t be stupid, child!” The sergeant mounted one of the swag horses. Strange coins were sewn onto the tack: a redcoat’s horse. Then he turned to the captain who was his former commander now. “Ready, Sir?”

With the merest nod, von Innow took up the reins. Looking at the soldiers and their wives who had gathered on the stairwell and in the yard, he said, “I’m sorry.” But he was so hoarse that it was no more than a whisper.

Liese got into gear, and they set out for the street, accompanied only by the watchful adjutant and the grey-bearded sergeant. The latter was the only one who obviously gave a damn about the adjutant’s suspicious looks at everybody who had helped the captain pack and put on his cuirass.

The adjutant called orders to his own soldiers and servants who came down the street: about fetching a wagon to deliver the casks to the duke, packing the books back into the crates, and selling the furniture, but saving the trunk for himself.

It was a shame. Though the adjutant was just following orders, Benjamin felt like beating the officer. Unlike the highborn fob, he had noticed the captain’s forlorn glance back as he was leaving the rest of his possession behind. This room with a bed, a trunk, a table and some chairs plus the crates and casks was as close to a home as a field army officer could make for himself. Von Innow’s stuff was nowhere near as elaborate as some of the furniture in the house of Benjamin’s father, but compared to his soldiers, the captain had been a rich man.

And even though the captain had brought this upon himself with his godless behaviour, Benjamin couldn’t help feeling pity and guilt.

_If I had just been braver, hadn’t told them about that night, then they wouldn’t have any more proof than Alexander’s testimony – a testimony the Duke didn’t want to hear. If only I weren’t such a coward!_

In his mind’s eye, he was back in the prison, held by the executioner in the mimicry of a rape. It didn’t help his mood that they were riding down the same street he had been dragged along when the guards had taken him from Mrs. Sommer’s house.

There, over there was the lane with the prison, but they stayed on the street leading to the town gate.

It was mid-morning by now, and the merchants and peasant wives with their yellowish cabbage stalks would be on the market already. But still there was a stream of people coming into the town. Many of them weren't carrying commodities however, but their scant belongings on their backs: refugees from the villages. One family was lucky enough to have a goat on a rope.

No-one seemed to wonder about the cuirassier with a second man on his horse. Perhaps they just supposed a shortage of horses. Benjamin looked around, both with more confidence, for nobody was shouting ‘burn them’, and with foreboding.

Somehow, von Hassfurt and his ilk would show up at the last minute, wouldn’t they?

The captain had checked his pistols very thoroughly.

They reached the city gate. The adjutant nodded curtly at the open land. “Don’t scowl at me, Innow. Thank the duke for his clemency!”

“I’ll bear it in mind, I assure you.”

The adjutant squinted his eyes warily. Benjamin couldn’t decide either how much of a menacing undertone had been in von Innow’s rasped answer.

The sergeant, however, reined his horse between the two officers and held out a hand to von Innow: “Good luck, Captain. It was an honour to ride for you. And if you take service elsewhere, please don’t let it be the Imperials. I’d hate to fight against you.”

“Never the Imperials.” Von Innow took the offered hand. Benjamin couldn’t see the captain’s face, but the sergeant looked shaken.

Then von Innow urged his horse on, leaving his sergeant and the haughty officer behind. He left the town, not paying heed of the pedestrians in the gateway.

Curses followed them as they passed though the massive stone gate. But these curses were about reckless riding: no-one called them buggers.

“Hold on!” von Innow ordered when Liese’s hooves thundered on the boards of the drawbridge.

Benjamin was still wondering where to get a grip when they had passed the bridge. As soon as they were on solid ground, von Innow urged the horse into a gallop.

“Damn!” Benjamin grabbed for the heretic before the momentum carried him off the horse.

He managed to cling to the shoulder part of the cuirass with his right hand, and with his left he clutched the captain’s belt. Strapped in his shell of iron, von Innow would hardly notice.

Benjamin, on the other hand, noticed the more: He was sitting on the horse’s hind legs, so every step in gallop propelled him up and made him land hard on the roll of blankets. He tried to hold on with his legs, and the hack answered by kicking into empty air – or the drizzle that filled it.

“Don’t tickle her!” von Innow barked. With his right hand he felt for Benjamin, grabbed his jacket and pulled him closer. “Put your arms around me and keep your legs away from the horse.”

 _Why the hell do we have to canter at all!_ Benjamin wanted to snap. _What a silly cavalier attitude to start everything in full gallop!_

But when von Innow did look around he didn’t look at his passenger, but at the city walls.

_Pursuers? A sniper with a musket?_

Benjamin looked back as well. Nobody was after them as it seemed. But how long would it take until the story of their trial would get around? Then they would be fair game for any man who dared challenge von Innow – be it to finish what the duke had left undone or simply because the next person he might run across was in need of a horse and a cuirass.

Benjamin put his arms around von Innow’s waist. Better to make the horse run properly as long as it had enough breath.

The beast stopped bucking when he relaxed his legs as he had been told. But it was anything but a joy to sit behind von Innow. The iron plates made his touch modest, but Benjamin was constantly in danger of bumping his nose against the armour or getting a hearty blow to the chin. The plume from the captain’s hat was in his face as was the captain’s hair, and it made him splutter and snort. He turned his face to the other side – just to see that they were passing the gallows on the hill outside the town.

 

 

 

“Lord help me!” Seeing the many corpses hanging from the wooden beams, he was about to cross himself, but thought better of it. Clinging to the captain and their means of escape was all he could do now.

The army was still punishing the cowards and rounding up the deserters. Soldiers stood watch, and a small crowd had gathered, the usual scavengers who hoped to snatch a used noose and sell it as a good luck charm.

 _It could have been me up there._ Benjamin shuddered so hard that he almost clinched the horse again. _The afternoon execution party … They’ll have to put up more beams or cut off the hanged before …_

He remembered feeling the rope around his neck, the fear of being strangled to death the very next moment. How long ago had it been that von Innow had saved him from being hanged the first time? Benjamin had lost count of the days he had slept his fever off, but it couldn’t have been much more than a week ago.

Today, von Innow had saved him again. Had put his honour at stake and lost it as well as his bounty and possessions. _My Order will never pay him that much money to make up for all his trouble._

 _Can I make up for all this?_ Certainly the captain would expect him to be grateful. And grateful he was. Suddenly, he really wanted to hug the captain, without this stupid armour, clutch him like last night in the prison: to find and give comfort and never let go. And yet he was afraid of the captain’s expectations of how far his gratefulness should go.

‘Well, being carried away like some saved damsel, you'd better prepare for some ride tonight,’ his useless devil spoke up. ‘Or for another beating, for now he’s lost not just a golden gospel and some knife, but his name and standing. Wonder which army he might join if it can’t be Protestants and he despises the Imperials.’

 _The Saxons, the Hessians – be it those Calvinist heretics from Kassel or the Catholic ones from Darmstadt –, hell, every Estate had their own army these days!_ Benjamin objected. _But perhaps it was just a ruse. Just to avoid being shot straight in the back. Perhaps he’ll come with me. We’ll join the Emperor’s army together. Certainly it will help him to start as an officer again if I tell them that he saved me because he feels some loyalty to the Emperor, or has some insight into the true faith._

But thinking of von Innow’s grin when the heretic had handed him his vile catechism, Benjamin decided that the mention of loyalty towards the Emperor had to suffice.

Even the mentioning would have to be done carefully. Because for some reason the Jesuits had fallen out of General Wallenstein’s favour. It was said that he had called them troublemakers. Recommended even not to allow them into newly conquered territory because all they would cause was uproar – just imagine!

It was a shame to have such a commander-in-chief, really, but good old General Tilly was dead. Killed by a wound caused by a Swedish slug shot … Benjamin wondered if von Innow had fought in this battle as well.

The horse slowed down, trotted. That was even worse to sit out than the gallop had been, and Benjamin was grateful when the puffing Liese chose to walk. Von Innow didn’t interfere.

Benjamin looked around. Weissenfels had vanished in the mist of a light rain, and they were alone on the road. It had to be the trade road to Leipzig: Benjamin doubted that even such a rich country as the Duchy of Saxony would have more than one made-up trade road with a ditch.

Von Innow hung his head, pulling his hat deeper into his face, and Benjamin was grateful to hide behind him, for the wind came from the east: from Leipzig where he should have arrived a week ago with a mule and a load of leaflets.

They came to a fork in the road. It was quite clear which way was the post road and which one a smaller path to the north, and yet von Innow stopped the horse as if he had to ponder their direction. With a grateful huff, Liese hung her head.

Benjamin also felt relieved about the stop. He was about to ask if he might walk for while when von Innow pointed at the smaller path and said: “That’s the way to Merseburg and Halle. Three days to Berlin if we manage soon to get you such a fine horse as mine. I have a cousin married near Berlin, she’ll certainly take us in.”

 _What?_ Benjamin’s relief gave way to alarm. Going north? Away from the remains of the Imperial army? Away from his brethren? And how long did von Innow want to stay at his cousin’s? Doing what?

‘You!’ the devil cackled.

“Uhm, Captain, why not go to Leipzig?” Benjamin asked carefully. “We could make it in a day’s time … seeing it’s not the weather to travel at all.”

Von Innow snorted. “You can’t wait to get rid of me, can you?”

“No! I didn’t say that!” Benjamin jumped from the horse. That made the captain look at him. Alarmed himself. But Benjamin didn’t intend to run. He took a step towards the horse’s shoulder to look von Innow in the face.

Wondering if the water on the heretic’s face was just due to the rain, he put a hand on von Innow’s iron-covered knee. “Please. You need the money from the ransom, and I need a dry and warm place so that my fever won’t return. The people I was supposed to meet at Leipzig will take us in without any doubt. Yes, you as well, for you saved my life, and please know, I am really, really grateful!”

“Are you promising me supper with a bunch of Jesuits?”

Benjamin shook his head. “Perhaps there will be one Jesuit or two present: you have to talk with them about my ransom, after all. But I was talking of tradespeople. Supporters of the Catholic cause, yes, but there’s no lair full of priests lying in wait to convert you.”

His attempt at humour didn’t cheer the captain up. Von Innow put his hand on Benjamin’s, squeezing it lightly. “So you won’t consider becoming a cavalry man yourself?”

Benjamin looked at the iron-clad fist. How many good Catholics had it killed in the recent battle? The captain rubbed his thumb over the back of his hand, but to Benjamin the metal glove of the cuirass looked like war itself, grabbing hold of the people and mangling everything in its cold, black iron grip.

“I was tempted,” he said. “Before the battle. Yes, as a boy I dreamed of becoming an elegant officer on a Spanish steed. But during the battle I saw them all … shot and cut, crying and bleeding.”

“A soldier’s Fortuna is a bitch sometimes.” Von Innow let go of Benjamin’s hand and swallowed hard. “No: always.” With a forced grin he asked, “Wonder what a Jesuit’s Fortuna is like?”

“Jesuits do not believe in Fortuna, but in our Lord, Captain,” Benjamin said in a soft voice. The heretic, however, looked as if he had been slapped again.

He hadn’t meant to hurt his rescuer, and Benjamin felt sorry. In an attempt to lighten the mood, he added, “But if I believed in Fortuna … Well, mine certainly would wear a cuirass with bullet holes in it, and have a beard and a broken nose and some rather odd manners.”

Von Innow laughed out, but looked close to tears the very next moment. He turned his face away. “Get on the horse!” he said in a gruff voice. “It’s quite a ride to Leipzig.”

# Chapter 28

“If you don’t mind, Captain, I’d rather walk,” Benjamin said. “I’m better used to it, and it’ll keep me warm.” He didn’t mention his aching backside, the main reason for his plea. But the weather was chilling enough to argue that way. He didn't have to fake it when he hugged himself and shuddered in the drizzle.

Von Innow nodded. He turned in the saddle and unbuckled the straps that held his coat and the blankets in place. He put on the coat, taking care to cover the holsters with his pistols in front of the saddle. “Take some blankets and make yourself a cape.”

“Thank you.” Benjamin took two. Suddenly, he thought of Saint Martin and the poor man. _Well, after all, with one coat and seven blankets we’re better off than a Saint …_

He put the blankets over his head and around his shoulders like a cloak and was about to strap the other ones back on the saddle when Liese suddenly turned her heavy head and snorted in anticipation. Alarmed, von Innow looked down the road to Weissenfels.

Horses in full gallop appeared in the mist. Three of them.

Too many for a courier ride, too fast for a patrol. Benjamin couldn’t help thinking of Major von Hassfurt and his two cronies, the provost and the quartermaster.

“Take cover!” Von Innow turned the horse, pulled the pistols and cocked them.

So the captain thought the same. Benjamin frowned at the plain there were in. _Where on earth?_

The landscape was flat, the road ran trough empty fields and meadows, and the only shrubs he saw formed a hedge so bare that he could see through it. What he detected, however, were the stones that some travellers had laid down at the fork.

Hastily he picked up some handy rocks. Stones would not defend him against a bullet, he had no illusion about that. But when it came to a close fight, he might distract one of the captain’s enemies long enough, and throwing stones he knew.

This kind of ammunition had always been easy to grab when they crossed the path of the Dominicans’ students, and some window panes in Mainz had also been smashed on a regular basis, especially those with alleged heretics living behind them.

Through the rain he saw three horses, but only two riders. Benjamin frowned, but prepared to hurl a chunk of stone with a sharp edge.

The captain took the reins tightly and raised his pistol, aiming at the first rider.

“Whoa! Captain, don’t shoot! It’s us! Wagner and Fischer!”

The pursuers skidded to a halt. Benjamin saw that they led a spare horse on a leash. No third rider then.

Von Innow lowered the pistol, but didn’t close the cock. “What do you want?”

“Bring you another horse, of course!” Wagner called, pulling the spare horse forward. It was one of the swag horses, a scrawny beast and certainly the poorest specimen from their stable. “For the boy. We thought the faster you can get away before the major returns from the duke’s house, the better.”

“Because,” Fischer added, “when the duke left our house he looked fucking pleased. But the major not so. Glaring daggers and such, murderous, I mean.”

“Thank you.” Carefully, the captain un-cocked the wheel-lock pistol and put it back into the holster – the pistol he had aimed at his soldiers. The other one, however, was still hidden under his coat and at the ready.

 _Is that how much you can trust your own men now?_ Benjamin frowned. He cast the captain a questioning glance.

“Get the horse, what are you waiting for?” von Innow told him. To his former soldiers he said, “Thank you very much, gentlemen. That’s really helpful.”

Wagner snorted. “Wasn’t that easy: first we had to wait until this ass of an adjutant had left the yard, but the very next moment his servants marched in and started to boss us around. That is, they tried to.”

“Made them lose some teeth,” Fischer added with a grin. “And we left through another town gate. Just for a ruse, I mean.”

“Good job.” Von Innow grinned as well.

Why that talk? Benjamin fought down his frown as he went to the horse that they had brought for him. Or pretended to. Why would cavalry men short of horses give one away on their own volition? Certainly it was a trick. It had to be. Certainly they would grab him, shoot at the captain, trying something dirty to get the ransom for themselves and the captain’s few belongings as well.

Wagner threw the leash at him. “Damn, boy, it’s just a horse, not a lion!”

“Thank you.” Benjamin said, surprised to see the soldiers’ hands still empty but for their reins. He led the horse to the captain’s side. A horse for himself! He had never been given a horse before.

“You'd better sell it or exchange it in the next town, Sir,” Wagner addressed the captain. “It shows signs of mange, but for a few days' riding it should do.”

 _Great! A mangy one!_ The nag had nothing better to do than rub his head against Benjamin’s shoulder.

“Don’t!” Benjamin muttered, but his frown was directed at Wagner.

“Now, get on the horse!” There was impatience in von Innow’s voice. Obviously he was suspicious of his own men.

Benjamin checked the saddle straps. They were tight enough to mount the horse. There was no buckle to make the stirrup straps any longer, though. The former owner of that saddle had cut them according to his size. Getting on the horse was awkward this way. The horse wasn’t a well-trained one and tried to evade. It took three attempts, and when he was up in the saddle he sat there precariously with his knees too high, feeling like the proverbial monkey on the grindstone.

Whatever ulterior motives Wagner and Fischer might have had – now they grinned in unison with the captain at that berk of a pedestrian.

Wagner was the first to get serious again.

“Where will you go now, Captain?”

“Back north for the winter.” Von Innow nodded at the way to Halle.

“And in spring?” Fischer asked.

Von Innow frowned at him. “Well, after being robbed and kicked out by my superiors I’ll have to take service somewhere else next year. I already told the sergeant that I will not join the Imperials, so there’s no need to fear that you’ll have to face me in the next battle.”

Fischer nodded. As it seemed, the captain had answered his true question.

“To be honest, Sir,” Wagner said hesitantly. “We’d rather ride with you.”

That made the captain frown – even thunderously. “You’ve taken your oath on the regiment’s flag – not on me,” he stated in a stern voice. “As long as the duke doesn’t release you for winter you’re bound to the regiment until next spring. And I won’t ride with deserters, for one can’t rely on them!”

Winter hung his head. Fischer scowled. “See,” he told his comrade. “I knew he would say that!”

To the captain he said, “But we had to ask. I mean, everyone is afraid now that the duke will put us in the major’s company.”

“What’s to fear about that?” von Innow sneered. “They tend to leave the battlefield as soon as the shooting starts. You were certainly worse off with me.”

Wagner chuckled. “But you bought us food and advanced us pay when we needed to buy another horse.” He untied a bag from the saddle. “Here, the women sent you some provisions, and there’s a flask with brandy in it, with greetings from Master Rudolf. He sends you word that part of the brandy is to be put onto your cheek, not all into it.”

He urged his horse on and made it step up next to Liese.

Benjamin stiffened. Now, if they wanted to try a dirty trick like hitting the captain in the face with the bag …

But the soldier handed the bag over. “We’re really sorry, Sir,” he said, “And all that trouble because of that …”

He nodded in Benjamin’s direction, and his gaze said 'blasted Papist' – or something much worse.

“The night after the battle, we were already wondering why the major gave you something,” Fischer added. “I mean, he hates you. Why give you a prisoner then? Even if it’s … well.” Another glance full of ill-will hit Benjamin.

Von Innow shrugged, making his cuirass clink. “I didn’t give it a thought, to be honest. I supposed he wanted to watch me killing Benjamin, or to mock me for letting a prisoner escape.”

The apparent cluelessness of their former officer didn’t seem to satisfy the soldiers. But Benjamin started to wonder himself from which stage on Major von Hassfurt had planned to accuse von Innow of conspiracy and sodomy. He had just been a pawn in an evil scheme plotted against the captain. Nobody had cared for his fate at all. _No wonder the duke passed my death sentence so casually. All they wanted was the captain’s possessions. They never gave a damn about me._

He started from brooding when Wagner made his horse back up. “Well, we had better go back then …”

“Give the company my regards,” von Innow said. “Tell them I’m truly sorry … and please tell Mrs. Sommer that she was helpful.”

“Ah, that stupid cow! Instead of telling us what was going on she ran away crying as soon as she left the room,” Wagner waved his hand dismissively. “But we’ll tell her. And good luck with this one, Captain. Shall we bind him before he tries something stupid?”

“No,” von Innow said with a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “I don’t expect him to get far on horseback – even with such a fine hack.”

Mollified, the soldiers grinned. “Well, good luck then, Sir. God be with you.”

“And with you, gentlemen.”

They turned their horses and rode back to Weissenfels in a slow canter, gesturing at each other in discussion. Benjamin still wondered why they hadn’t tried to rob the captain, but given him a second horse. Spending one’s own money on one’s company obviously hadn’t been as foolish as Captain Winter had once supposed.

“Well.” von Innow let out a long sigh and put the hidden pistol back into the holster. He fixed the bag with the food to the saddle horn and turned to Benjamin.

“And you’re still insisting on Leipzig?”

“Yes, please.”

“Lead the way, then.” Von Innow gestured down the trade route to the east.

 

***

 

Riding hurt. But the words of the soldiers rang like a warning in Benjamin’s mind: _the faster you can get away before the major returns from the duke’s house the better._

He clenched his teeth and tried to stand up in the stirrups as long as he could. He wondered why von Innow didn’t give him any advice like his father had done: sit still, don’t cling at the reins – things like this.

But when he cast a glance at von Innow who rode at his side he realized that the captain knew very well what his problem was. And there seemed to be no advice for that.

“We’ll take a break at the next inn,” von Innow promised.

 

***

 

The next inn that was not burnt down happened to be the one in the village of Rippach. They reached it at noon. Benjamin felt sick to his stomach when he rode into the yard. He knew they were gone: the Generals Isolani and Colloredo, as well as Madame Clara, but he expected them to reappear the very next moment.

“Can’t we ride on to the next village?” he asked, trying a very pleading mien.

Von Innow frowned at him, already dismounting. “No,” he said in a gruff voice that forbade whining. “The horses need a break, and I want some hot soup in this blasted weather!” He took the bag with the food with him, as he did with the pistols, instead of entrusting them to the stable master.

The inn was crowded with soldiers and travelling sutlers. The smell of damp leather and wet woollen coats was much stronger than the taste from the soup bowls served by three overworked wenches. Yes, they were here for lunch, but Benjamin couldn’t help turning and casting nervous glances at the stairwell and the gallery on which Madame Clara had appeared.

“Now, eat!” Von Innow growled at him. “We won’t stay long!”

The soup was watery and made of turnips and tough meat. The latter made Benjamin wonder what had become of the many dead horses on the nearby battle field. But at least the room was hot thanks to a big fireplace and the many people who milled around looking for a place to sit down and eat.

Suddenly von Innow waved at someone and nudged Benjamin in the ribs. “Move aside.”

A man with a courier’s bag strapped across his chest and a bowl of soup in his hands gladly accepted the offered place on their bench.

“Bloody awful weather, isn’t it?” von Innow said instead of a greeting.

“Could be worse.” The courier dug in, grimacing when chewing on the meat.

“How’s the way to Leipzig?” von Innow asked.

The courier shrugged, casting the captain a wary look. “What makes you think I’m coming from Leipzig?”

“Pure hope. I have to go there for some family business.”

The courier gave him another suspicious look. Benjamin couldn’t tell if it was due to the captain’s better clothes or von Innow’s commanding air that the courier finally spoke. “The road is free of Imperials,” he reported. “Behind Lützen, you’ll already meet patrols of the Saxon army. The Elector’s army took Leipzig, but not its castle. There’s still a garrison of Wallenstein’s in it, but they’re under heavy siege. Whatever your business is, you might want to keep it short: Wallenstein has left all his wounded in the city, and with the Saxons in it too, you’ll hardly find any quarter. On top of that, the plague is back.”

“Damn.”

“You said it, Sir.” The courier slurped down the rest of his soup and jumped up to continue on his way.

Von Innow looked at Benjamin. Benjamin waited for him to ask again whether he was still determined to go to Leipzig. But the captain didn’t ask. Probably because it would look weird if an officer asked his servant – or whatever the visitors of the pub would see in him.

 

***

 

The captain asked, however, as soon as they had left the village.

“Going into a town under such conditions means challenging fate,” he added in a grave voice.

Benjamin pulled his blanket cloak closer around himself. There was a leaden wall of clouds creeping in from the east. They looked as if they would bring snow, but also like a warning. ‘Don’t come any closer’, they said. ‘There’s nothing but death to be found here.’

_But if I go with him to the north, how many days will we spend in ‘recovery’? One or two? Hardly. Until Christmas? Candlemas? Easter? Trust Captain von Innow to always find a reason why they could not go to Leipzig. Trust Captain von Innow also to find a dozen reasons why they had to share the same bed, no matter how many guest rooms his cousin’s house had._

His own devil haunted him with the imagination of how wonderful it would feel to hold the captain in his arms, basking in body heat and resting in a well-heated room instead of the miserable weather they were riding through. Oh, yes, he would like to hug the heretic tight, press against him, snuggle closer …

Damn. His flesh stirred at the mere thought!

 _Haven’t you learned anything here?_ he admonished himself. _You were lusting for him, and you were punished. Somewhere along this very road! Why do you think does the Lord send you the same way again? As Father Michael said: you were given another chance to repent and stay away from sin._

_What will happen next time when you fail now?_

_Next time, the redcoats will send you to hell in agony, without confession, without absolution. And you’ll burn. You saw the pictures of hell in the churches. You know what’s going on there and how badly the sodomites are punished!_

No, this had to end. The sooner he parted ways with the captain the better. He wished he could save the heretic as well, but he had to take care of his own soul first.

Benjamin heaved a sigh.

“I’m also not looking forward to going into a plague-ridden town,” he admitted. “But please understand I have to report back to my superiors as soon as possible.”

Seeing the captain’s sullen gaze, he tried to put his commitment in words even a soldier could grasp. “I’m bound by oath to the Jesuit Order – as your soldiers are to their regiment. You would also expect your men to report back as soon as possible after a fight. If I’d ride with you to the north now, you’d also ride with a deserter.”

“Turning my words against me again, aren’t we, Father Benjamin?” the captain sneered. “If you'd rather choose the plague over keeping company with me, just say so!”

_And trust Captain von Innow to find precisely the words to drive him mad in no time …_

“Don’t misunderstand me on purpose!” Benjamin snapped. “It’s due to your blasted Protestant rebellion that the Lord punishes us with war and plague! If the whole city is full of wounded, I am needed there. None of my superiors would understand that I rode away for whatever ‘recovery’ you have in mind! And our Lord will not allow me to hide anywhere – under what pretence ever!”

His brave declaration made the heretic laugh out.

“You’re an idiot, Benjamin! If the Emperor would respect his Protestant subjects as his predecessors did, there would be no war! So leave the Lord out of this, for heaven’s sake! He has left us long ago!”

“Left us!”

“Yes, disgusted with all the zealots speaking in his name! Left us and built himself a better world somewhere far, far away. And I bet he stopped right after making the animals this time!”

“You’re not serious!” Shocked, Benjamin clung at the reins. His horse stopped.

”Do you have a better explanation for all this!”

“This is ridiculous!” Benjamin kicked his horse, made it trot to catch up. “This cannot be! The Lord does punish us for our sins with this war, but he never ever would leave us!”

“Ah, so you’re making decisions on his behalf again!” von Innow sneered.

“That is not fair!”

“Life is not fair, but quite the contrary, and the sooner you learn it the better.”

“But you can’t say the Lord has left us!” Benjamin exclaimed, truly agitated. “For example: What would have become of us this morning, if the Lord had not saved us! Do you really think your horse-trade made the duke reprieve us? No, it was the Lord making the duke …”

“It was the devil himself who made him rob all my belongings, instead of telling the major to shut up and get lost!”

“You can’t believe that! Certainly our Lord…”

“Don’t you dare tell me what to believe, Papist!”

Benjamin bristled. He was about to snap that the captain had brought all of this upon himself. That even the Calvinist duke had quoted the very same verse a Catholic priest would have referred to, and that there was no difference between the denominations in the question of the captain’s sin. This thought was confusing enough to make him pause.

Feeling the captain’s misery and rancour, Benjamin tried another approach to make the man see reason. In a soft voice he said, “Believe it or not, but God is in all things. I understand that you don’t feel grateful at the moment, but please consider that it could have been worse.” Much worse, for dying at the stake was the worst death he could imagine.

The captain stopped his horse. Benjamin’s mount bumped right into Liese. Benjamin was still fighting to stay in the saddle when an iron-clad fist closed around his throat.

“Don’t insult me with this clerics’ waffle, do you hear me! No, I am not grateful just because it ‘could have been worse’. No, the Lord did not give me a second chance to better myself, and no, this was not the logical consequence of my sins! For the Lord does not give a damn about my person and my prayers, every time I need him most!”

Benjamin gulped for air and tore with both hands at the fist that choked him. Von Innow let go and urged his horse to move.

Benjamin rubbed his neck. He knew he had better stay quiet, but it pained him to listen to such godless desperation. What would become of the man if he died like this!

‘Why do you care?’ His devil scowled.

_Yes, why do I care at all?_

Benjamin clicked his tongue to make his horse go on. He should not care, should let the captain burn in hell where he belonged. How could von Innow see the devil at work when the Lord had intervened in his favour? How could he, after all this, come up with the idea that the Lord had left them? The man had gone mad, that was the only explanation. True, the Lord was stern, and his ways were very hard to see sometimes. For example why the Lord had sent such an obstinate heretic to his rescue ...

 _It has to be a trial_ , Benjamin concluded. _To see if I chose faith over my leanings towards sin, my commitment to the Societas Jesu over the wish to … what? Stay with him? Help him? But how can I help him when he doesn’t care for his soul and all he wants is to get his family estate back? My brethren will be damned if they give him that much money. Four or five thalers maybe like for a common soldier or a civilian, but never the value of the golden gospel or the Legenda._

_What if he demands five thousand, fifty thousand? If they don’t pay, do I have to stay with him then? Certainly not. Trust them to find a way to trick him. Or even arrest him. What then? Lord, what am I supposed to do then? What if they demand ransom for him from the Swedes and learn about the court martial? No. This cannot happen! I don’t want to see him executed, burn … Please, Lord, I know he’s not worthy, but please, please have mercy on him!_

The captain stopped his horse on the top of the hill and waited until Benjamin had caught up. This time Benjamin kept a safe distance. The heretic probably noticed, because the corner of his mouth quirked upwards when he saw Benjamin rein his horse to the other side of the path. Otherwise there was no humour in his mien. He pointed east: “Do you see this?”

Benjamin squinted his eyes. Due to the weather the sight was poor, but the second settlement along the road was all burnt down except for the town wall and a tiny castle with a square tower. Lützen.

“I don’t want to hear any word from you until we've passed Lützen and the battlefield,” von Innow said in a stern voice. “If you need to keep your head busy, think about how much of God was in the battle and its outcome. And now hurry, or we won’t make it to Leipzig until nightfall.”

# Chapter 29

Brooding in silence, Benjamin followed the heretic to the east. Somewhere here along the way, it had happened. But when the redcoats had dragged him out of the carriage, punched him in the stomach and tossed him in the mud he hadn’t paid attention to his surroundings.

_No, don’t even think of it!_

He stared at von Innow’s back. All he saw of the man himself were strands of brown hair. Otherwise the captain was hidden under hat, coat and cuirass.

The dark grey clouds dumped their load of sleet on them, and Benjamin pulled his blankets closer around himself.

_What miserable weather. What a miserable idea to ride on at all. Why didn’t we take a room at the inn? Surely we can afford a dry, warm place to stay? And buy time to think._

Thoughts that, to be honest, haunted him because he didn’t see a way how to satisfy both, his own brethren and the captain. How could he negotiate a reasonable ransom? A price his brethren would pay and the captain would accept? Would Father Michael agree on negotiations at all?

_He knows about us, I told him the captain’s name, told him what he looks like. He knows how tempted I was._

_What will he do?_

In his mind’s eye, Benjamin saw von Innow in chains, dragged through the streets as a convicted sodomite. People were throwing stones at him while the executioner pushed him towards the place where the stake was waiting for the sinner.

_No. No. This will not happen. As soon as we’ve passed Lützen, I’ll have to tell him!_

 

***

 

It was a long and miserable ride. Captain von Innow as a seasoned rider set the pace. They changed between walk and canter depending on the conditions of both the horses and the road. From time to time he cast a glance at Benjamin, but his companion’s well-being never seemed to be a reason to slow down. At least he spared him the trot. The little bay horse with its strange kind of saddle was awfully hard to sit on in trot.

They passed a village, a settlement Benjamin had barely noticed when huddled on the rear board of Madame Clara’s carriage. People were hiding in the houses, and the road to Lützen was deserted in this weather.

The sleet turned to icy drizzle when they reached Lützen. It was a shame to see what the fire had left of the city. The castle was still there, obviously undamaged, but the town itself consisted of nothing but burnt-out ruins. Here and there people had started with makeshift repairs, but hadn’t made good progress. Under canvas roofs, soldiers burnt the beams and boards from building sites to warm themselves.

When they left the ruins and entered the former battlefield, von Innow took off his hat, paying reverence to the fallen while cantering down the road that had been the frontline. The mills were torn down, the miller’s house burnt out, and the artillery emplacement deserted: the Swedes had carried all the cannons away.

Benjamin craned his neck, but couldn’t see into the yard where the unfortunate wounded had fallen victim to the major’s looting men.

The trench line near the mills was filled up, however, and a few hundred meters down the road, Benjamin recognised it for the mass grave it had become. Here, at the centre of the battlefield, people were still busy burying the dead.

Their progress was listless, and if it hadn’t been for the musketeers who guarded them, they would certainly have stopped and hidden from the rain.

Benjamin saw dead soldiers in nothing but their shirts, some even naked, being put in the muddy ditch. A sullen preacher said a few words of prayer, then the next bodies were dumped onto the corpses. Next to that – where the trench was already filled with dead soldiers – some men shovelled the soil that had been part of the trench fortification during battle, making it the final layer. Behind them, sutlers and their wives threw clothes and shoes onto their wagons, cursing the weather and shooing crows.

When Benjamin saw a man heading to the ditch dragging a cut-off leg after him, he couldn’t endure it anymore. He crossed himself and kicked his horse from canter into full gallop. He overtook the captain and rushed on and on, until the fields were not covered with dead bodies and crows or the scars of cavalry attacks. His horse was panting and sweating by now, and he let it walk, not caring for direction. Finally, the bay stopped.

Benjamin was panting himself, trying to fight down the sickness. Behind him, he heard a horse make up ground. Of course it was von Innow on his draught horse. Nevertheless, Benjamin cast a glance over his shoulder, just to be sure. A grey coat, not a red one. He turned his face away, staring into empty fields. If the captain were to utter any of his blasphemous remarks now he would hit him right on the nose.

Von Innow didn’t say anything, however. He opened the bag Wagner had given him, and rummaged through it. He pulled a flask from the bag, opened it and took a swig.

Holding out the bottle of Benjamin, he said: “Have a sip, and let your horse walk on then. Otherwise it will get ill.”

Brandy. Benjamin took a gulp of it. Another one. It burnt in his throat, in his stomach, warmed him up and made the sickness bearable. He returned the bottle to von Innow and obeyed the captain’s order then, made his horse walk on.

“You may talk now if you want,” the captain said.

Benjamin shook his head. No. Not another quarrel, no need to discuss the hell he had just seen. No wonder that the captain thought God had left them. Thinking of the sullen gravediggers Benjamin doubted that they would bury the Catholics and the Protestants in different sections of the trench. And how should they tell them apart, looted as the bodies were?

The Lord would certainly tell them apart. But what if not? What would He say seeing all the bedraggled souls arrive in just a muddy shirt or nothing at all? Condemn them according to their sins? Have mercy with them? All of them?

 _‘Even the heretics?’_ his devil asked.

Casting a glance at von Innow, Benjamin wondered what the captain would say when he would face the Lord one day. Not in his cuirass, but in nothing but a shot-through shirt because his luck had run out, and this time the bullets had pierced through. Would he still claim the Lord had left him then? And what would the Lord say in return?

Against his will, Benjamin cast a glance back. But the fog had eaten the trench line already. Benjamin wondered if he was supposed to ride back. To say a prayer for the dead Catholics there. But he would probably just get hit over the head with a shovel for his trouble if he tried.

In his mind, he said the Pater Noster, for Captain von Innow didn’t want to hear 'Latin fuzz'. And he said it again and again, and finally the last line “but deliver us from evil” made him sob. He couldn’t help it. This was the way hell was looking like these days. No fires, but cold and rain and sludge everywhere. No hope, no blessing, nothing. And evil everywhere.

He shivered and nudged his horse to keep up with the captain’s.

“May I have another brandy?” This miserable croak wasn’t his own voice, was it?

Von Innow handed the bottle over. From the distance there was the muted sound of cannons roaring.

Benjamin started.

“Leipzig,” the captain said.

 

***

 

A break for the horses was due at mid-afternoon. The hour was hard to tell, but Benjamin trusted the captain’s experience in travelling on horseback. The cannon roar was louder already. With nightfall, they would certainly reach Leipzig. But at the moment, Benjamin couldn’t think this far into future.

Perhaps the brandy was to blame. Or the pain. Because from trying to stand in the stirrups his knees had become sore, rubbing against the saddle’s edge. For now, he didn’t know what hurt worse: sitting down or trying to find balance in the stirrups. Blame the rain, too. Hose and breeches were drenched, and he was cold.

Von Innow had chosen a copse for their rest, but patrolled around it first.

Benjamin wished to discover a hut there, with a fireplace, please. A dry place to rest. Some hot soup. Or better, lots of it.

But all there was were trees with dead leaves and briars. From under them, a jay flew up and made an awful racket.

“Ah, God’s own reconnaissance!” von Innow quipped and put the pistol back into his holster.

Benjamin wondered how one could look so at ease at the prospect of resting in the middle of nowhere.

Von Innow dismounted at the side of the copse that was sheltered from the wind. He took Liese’s bridle off and pushed it over her head as a makeshift halter. Ravenously, the horse fell on the grass. The captain had chosen a good place, Benjamin realized when mirroring von Innow’s actions: protected from heavy frost, the grass was still greenish here.

“Let’s see what the ladies have sent us aside from the brandy.” Von Innow opened the bag Wagner had given him. There was bread, a sausage, and a small jar. Von Innow looked at it puzzled, opened it, sniffed at it. “That’s your salve.”

Benjamin nodded. That was useful. Despite the awful reason that had made Master Rudolf leave the jar of ointment at his bedside in the beginning, he had used the wound balm later on Benjamin’s arm. It would do his sore knees good as well.

“I’d like a jar of lard better now.” The captain put the jar back into the bag, ripped off a chunk of the bread and gave it to Benjamin. “Will this give you back some enthusiasm?”

“Thank you.” _Enthusiasm?_ Maybe he would feel enthusiasm when greeted by Father Michael in a kitchen or a well-heated living room at Leipzig. In his mind’s eye Benjamin saw the Austrian beam at his unexpected return, even hug the prodigal son. But then he would notice the heretic who had set foot into his house …

Thinking of Father Michael meeting Captain von Innow made Benjamin squeeze his eyes shut. _Damn._ He had to tell the captain.

The captain gave him a piece of sausage. “Hey, little one! Don’t fall asleep here. We still have some miles to ride.”

Benjamin swallowed hard.

“May I ask a question?”

Von Innow nodded, peeling his own chunk of sausage.

 _How to tell him?_ Benjamin rather stared at the captain’s breastplate than looking the man in the eye.

“How many thalers are you going to demand for me?” That sounded straight-forward enough. Perhaps the captain’s price would be reasonable, and there would be no more need for discussion.

“Well, what do you think you are worth?”

 _Damn._ Trust the heretic to muck up every talk.

When there was nothing more forthcoming, Benjamin looked up. Von Innow was scrutinizing him, holding his food, but not eating. There was concern in his mien. Damn. Trust the heretic to see right through him.

“The reason why I ask is this, is … well, I’m just a student. And …” Benjamin shrugged in helpless frustration. _Why talk around it?_ “Look, I’m afraid that the Fathers will cause you trouble when you demand a too high ransom for me. For them, I’m just one of the many _scholastici_ they have, and if you ask more than a common man’s ransom … Well, I don’t want you to end up in prison again.”

“Why should I?”

“Because …” Benjamin worried his lower lip. _Lord help me!_ “Because during my confession when I told the priest what you did to me the first night in your tent … well, I told him what you look like. Tall and such.” Involuntarily Benjamin pointed at his own nose. Which wasn’t broken – but perhaps would be very soon. “I’m afraid he might recognise you and, well, get you arrested for sodomy as well to save the ransom.”

Von Innow huffed out a breath, frowning. “Whom for heaven’s sake did you not tell about it!”

Benjamin hung his head. “I’m sorry. I meant … look, I hoped to explain why I couldn’t fight back.”

“The poor martyr, I see,” the captain snorted. “So, how much do you expect them to pay from the offertory box without playing me false?”

 _Martyr? Don’t you sneer at me for your own vices!_ Benjamin frowned. “The price of a common soldier, I suppose.”

“Four thalers?” von Innow called out. “Four lousy thalers after all the loss and trouble you caused me?”

Benjamin cast down his eyes. No, he would not point out that the captain had brought the trouble on himself with his own behaviour. He wasn’t that dumb.

“That’s one of the worst pranks the devil ever played on me!” von Innow growled with barely repressed fury. After a moment, he added with a derisive snort: “On the other hand, I wonder how much the Saxon army will pay for the information that there are still some Jesuit spies in the city.”

“What?” Outrage made Benjamin stare at the heretic. “You won’t do that!”

“Before I risk getting fooled by your bunch.” Von Innow shrugged. His appetite seemed to return with this evil idea and he bit into his piece of sausage. He even looked smug when gazing at his prisoner while chewing.

_Oh hell and damnation! There you think you’ll do him a favour, and he turns it into a threat!_

His horse tugged at the reins as it walked on grazing, and Benjamin followed the bay readily. Every step of distance was welcome now. Benjamin’s appetite was gone, but seeing his horse eat, his own stomach begged to be fed. He nibbled at the bread, tried the sausage.

 _What a mess!_ he ranted at himself. _You can’t show him where your brethren are supposed to live. We’ll have to find a room at an inn. I’ll have to send them a messenger. Find a neutral place for negotiations._

‘What if you’re simply nice to him?’ the devil suggested. ‘All he wants is you as his catamite. Perhaps he’ll reduce the ransom if you pay in kisses?’

 _I’m not a whore!_ Benjamin raged in silence.

‘Close your eyes and think of the Empire,’ the devil chuckled.

 _And of the Catholic Cause or what?_ Benjamin stomped on an innocent mole’s hill. With all the fury he felt. If he just could extinguish the whole heretic movement like this devilish ground-dweller’s settlement!

“Now, come on,” he heard von Innow’s voice behind him. “I didn’t say I’d inform the Saxons on your brethren anyway. Just you tell them to better not play any pranks on me.”

“What the hell are you thinking they’ll pay for me?” Benjamin whirled around. “Do have any idea how hard it is to become a Jesuit? There are more than enough other students striving to become a priest! Why would they invest some hundred thalers in me where I’m already …”

‘Unfit to become a priest?’ his devil suggested.

Benjamin forced himself to shut his mouth before he would blab something in his misery.

“Already what?”

Trust von Innow to twist the dagger in the wound.

“Nothing!” Benjamin turned his back to the heretic. “It’s just as I said. They don’t really need me. Therefore, they will pay you some thalers which may help you on your way back to your folks in the North. But don’t expect them to make up for the loss of your gospel. I assure you they will not pay, but regard you as a robber. I’m sorry.”

“And you don’t feel obliged in the least to come with me to work off this debt?”

The question was asked in a calm voice, but it made Benjamin gasp with horror. Work off? In his lifetime he couldn’t work off such a book!

And most certainly, von Innow’s idea of ‘working off’ would include _that_ sin.

Benjamin shook his head. “I can’t. I vowed obedience to the Order. And my family … they expect me to become a priest. I can’t disappoint them by running away. Please!” As much as he hated it, he turned to von Innow to look him in the eye. “Please, Sir! I know I wronged you. And all I can do is ask for your clemency. Please, give me a change to return to my order without making them hate me!”

The heretic frowned at him, looking distressed. “You want to become a priest because your family expects you to? Is that your ‘calling’? Don’t you have any wish for yourself?” he asked incredulously.

Benjamin hugged himself. _Oh hell!_ “Once I was supposed to become the cartwright’s apprentice, but then my younger sisters died, and it’s family tradition that the youngest one joins the clergy.”

“That’s no answer to my question, Benjamin.”

“Don’t you lecture me!” Benjamin snapped. “What do you want to hear, huh? Yes, of course, like every boy I once dreamt of becoming an officer on an elegant steed, with lace and rapier and golden spurs and such! But then I never thought of this!” He pointed down the road to Lützen. His hand shook and he resumed hugging himself. “And where else would it take me, going with you? No, I’m better off with the Jesuits. Much better. They have colleges, universities, churches. Places where one can _live_!”

“I see.” The heretic cast down his eyes. After a while he looked up, scowling. “Four thalers then – and one night with you. One in which I won’t hear any complaints about sin and no quotes of holy Church Fathers!”

Benjamin stared at him aghast.

‘I told you so!’ the devil cackled.

“I won’t do to you what the redcoats did, don’t you worry,” von Innow stated. “But if you want me to give you away dirt cheap that’s your part of the bargain!”

 _This is not happening!_ Benjamin stared at the captain. _We just escaped the stake and you are going to offend our Lord again in this way?_ But it would be the best offer he could get. Four thalers his brethren could afford easily.

“Lord, help me!” he couldn’t help cross himself. “But you won’t tell my brethren anything of that deal!”

“Hardly,” von Innow said in a cold voice.

# Chapter 30

“You’re from the younger Weimar’s regiment then?” Another piece of roasted duck vanished into the mouth of the portly Saxon colonel. “And what brings you to Leipzig, Captain von Innow?”

 _Supper? The need to rest and to get dry at your fireplace?_ Benjamin shuddered. He was cold and drenched, and his stomach hurt at the sight of a dozen officers feasting. _Good Lord, please, let us stay here and let them not arrest us as spies. I won’t survive another night in a dungeon!_

He stared longingly at the fireplace and started when von Innow put a hand on his shoulder.

“First, I want to return this young journeyman printer to his master, second, as I told your lieutenant,” von Innow nodded at the young officer who had taken them into the town after nightfall, “I was hoping to meet Lieutenant-Colonel von Glagenau form the Hofkirchen regiment.”

Benjamin wondered if this lieutenant-colonel existed at all. Sheer audacity had got them this far. Or was it just the way travelling chevaliers behaved? When they had been about to leave the copse, von Innow had taken the light blue sash out of the saddlebag. Putting it on, he scowled as if contemplating murder. But once they were back on the road to Leipzig, he hailed the first Saxon patrol they spotted and demanded that the soldiers take him at once to that lieutenant-colonel, an alleged former comrade.

The soldiers had not known about the Hofkirchen regiment’s whereabouts, but had taken von Innow – obviously an important messenger of the Swedish army – to their superior. That was the young lieutenant whose eyes were fixed now on the next leg of duck that was washed down the colonel’s throat in a wave of beer.

Said lieutenant knew where Hofkirchen’s cuirassiers were supposed to be, but he didn’t know if he was allowed to tell a stranger. So he had taken them to his own captain and so on until they had made it to this colonel, who happened to be dining with his staff in the inn they had made their headquarters.

“Third I hoped for the opportunity to buy a good horse or two because my riding horses were all shot under me during the battle,” von Innow went on. Broke as the captain was, it was a blatant lie. But the other officers nodded as if that was a perfectly understandable idea.

“Where were you in the battle?” one of them asked.

“In the first line of the left wing,” von Innow said, squaring his shoulders. “We charged fifteen times that day until the second line took over. It cost me all my riding horses.”

“Who were the Imperial Horse on your wing?” the colonel asked in a bored voice.

Benjamin cocked his head, scrutinizing the Saxon commander. Did the colonel deem them imposters?

“We faced Holk’s and Piccolomini’s”, von Innow said.

The colonel nodded as if he knew the Imperial battle plan.

Perhaps he did. The Elector of Saxony and the Emperor had been allies until last year when the Swedes invaded and forced Elector Johann Georg to change sides. To Benjamin, this colonel looked as if he had still more friends in the Imperial camp than in the Swedish.

To his own surprise, Benjamin frowned upon this sympathizer of his own cause. Where had these men been during the battle? Sitting around and munching fowl?

‘Why, now you wish the Saxons had fallen on the Emperor’s army as well?’ his devil asked.

 _No, of course not, but …_ Benjamin couldn’t help frowning at the Colonel and his staff for reaping a rich harvest of the undoing of both their former and their current allies.

“Is it true what everybody says?” a grey-haired officer asked. “Is the king of Sweden really dead?”

“He is,” von Innow confirmed with open regret. “I saw his Majesty’s corpse with my own eyes at Weissenfels.”

“Well,” the grey officer turned to the colonel, “I’d really like to hear more about the battle.” His comrades nodded.

“Take a seat then, Captain,” the colonel offered jovially. To the lieutenant he said, “Keep an eye on the captain’s captive. The kitchen is over there.”

The lieutenant blushed with fury at this open disregard. “We have to see to the horses first,” he ground out and cuffed Benjamin in the ribs to get him going. Von Innow cast a concerned glance at Benjamin. But he had to take a seat when the Saxon officers budged up and offered him a place on their bench.

 

***

 

“The stable is over there!”

Benjamin didn’t wonder why he was expected to walk in front of a nobleman. They considered him a captive, so it was for safety reasons and not due to rank when the lieutenant beckoned him to go first. Benjamin led Liese and the little bay one by the reins, wondering if he could knock out the puny officer and run.

Three stable-hands looked up from their dice, but left it to Benjamin and the lieutenant to lead their mounts into the stalls and take the saddles off. They were not given oats nor hay, but reed. The lieutenant complained, but the stable-hands shrugged, saying there was nothing else. Benjamin gave the food to the horses. Actually he had seen worse horse food at inns on his travels. All right, it was reed, and Liese looked at it as if she wanted to complain as well, but it was free of mould. Benjamin’s nameless bay took gratefully whatever was served.

While Benjamin waited next to the animals to make sure that the stable-hands wouldn’t steal the rations, the lieutenant walked up and down in front of the stalls hugging himself and swearing under his breath.

Benjamin guessed that the lieutenant was a few years younger than himself. The youth had long brown curls, some of them braided and adorned with a little bow and a bead – a foppish fashion of bragging with a lady’s _faveurs_. His attempts to grow a moustache had earned him just a little down, but he already swore like a seasoned thug.

 _Yes, I’m hungry, cold and tired as well, and yet I don’t sputter blasphemies!_ Huddling against Liese to partake of her body heat, Benjamin frowned at the lieutenant, then at the bag on von Innow’s saddle. Could he dare take a piece of bread without being robbed? Offer some to the lieutenant and hope to satisfy his own hunger? The rest at the copse had been many hours ago, and the memory of the roasted ducks made him curse his own stupidity: _Had you not argued about ransom but simply eaten when he offered you food, he certainly would have given you more of the bread._

He started when the Lieutenant suddenly stood right next to him. “I wonder …”

“What about, Sir?” Benjamin tried to sound friendly. After all, this young man had led them into the town, had insisted that the gate – already closed for the night – was opened for them again.

“What if the two of us go to your master right now and go fifty-fifty with the ransom?” the officer suggested in a low voice. “That captain will get over the loss if he’s got money enough to buy ‘one or two horses’, and your master’s wife surely has a pot of soup instead letting us stare at duck bones, won’t she?”

Surprised, Benjamin gazed at the officer. Was that plain hunger speaking or avarice?

‘That’s your chance!’ the devil cheered.

Chance? _Trust von Innow to tell these lace collars what kind of journeyman I really am_. ‘Jesuit spy’ he heard the captain say. And in another corner of his mind there was the slightly bored voice of the Duke of Weimar saying ‘the Jesuit will be hanged with the next execution party this afternoon’.

“I, hum, doubt that’s a good idea, Sir.”

The lieutenant frowned sourly at him.

“Look, judging from how poorly my master fared when the Imperials came _into_ the city there won’t be no pot of soup on his table now. I’m certain the captain is in for a disappointment concerning the ransom,” Benjamin pointed out.

The lieutenant pressed his hands to his growling belly. “How foolish is that not to run when offered an opportunity?” But he looked not so sure about his own plan anymore.

‘Yes, how foolish is that?’ the devil seconded. ‘Or are you not going because you’re hoping for the next occasion to sin? Is that the reason? To hell with the heretic! Leave him there with his fellows scoffing fowl, and see to it that you return to your order!’

Cursing the devil in his head, Benjamin opted for the explanation at hand – one the Lieutenant would understand. “From what little we saw on the way up to here things look three times worse than when I left. Honestly, I’m afraid we’re better off here with the leftovers from the officers’ table than anywhere else in the town where the Imperials have wreaked havoc.”

“You bet,” one of the stable-hands said.

 

***

 

“Wallenstein is not a man, but a mole! Dug himself in there and didn’t let his cavalry counterattack once!” Captain von Innow swept his hand in a wide gesture over the table. A crayon line stood for the trench line along the trade route, beer jars and plates with duck carcasses embodied the town of Lützen, cannon emplacements and the main detachments of the armies.

“We had to attack through this narrow pass: on our left the town wall with musketeers behind it who took us under fire all the way up to the trench and beyond, and in front on our right their main artillery battery and some snipers who had barricaded themselves in a house at some mills!” the captain said with outrage.

“And then get over a trench line full of muskets and pikes! At the first attack we could drive the Croats in front of us, so their horses got skewered first and cleared a path. But we charged fifteen times until the second line took over at mid-afternoon. And the Imperial cuirassiers stood like a wall! Right at the first attack, we drove the redcoats through a harquebusier regiment that broke up like a gaggle of chicken. But their cuirassiers were good. Closed the gaps and stood. No chance after that and God knows we’ve tried!”

Noticing Benjamin who lugged in their saddles and belongings, von Innow turned and summoned him.

Was it arrogance on his part? But to Benjamin, the captain seemed relieved to see him.

‘There! He expected you to run anyway!’ his devil nagged.

 _Well, I ran once, no wonder he was wary._ Benjamin put the saddles down in the corner where many coats where hung up to dry.

When he went to the captain, von Innow gave him his plate. On this plate sat a considerable piece of fowl and a thick slice of bread.

The lieutenant gaped at Benjamin, the more so since he had just learnt from the landlord that the ducks were out. Pearl barley broth was still available.

For some odd reason, Benjamin took pity on the Lieutenant. When he saw the thin soup served, he cut the fowl in half and offered a share to the young man.

‘What the heck are you doing?’ the devil cawed.

Benjamin didn’t know himself. But he felt pity for the fellow who had taken them into town and spared them another freezing cold night so far.

With his generous act he was making a friend. The lieutenant’s baffled mien lit up, and he ordered some barley broth for Benjamin as well and beer. “I wish I had some more coins for mulled wine,” he said with an apologetic shrug. “But we didn’t get pay this month.”

 _You neither?_ Benjamin was tempted to ask, but he shrugged as well and said, “I like beer better anyway: it doesn’t give me a headache.”

They ate their fowl and broth, listening to von Innow. The captain was telling the Saxons what he had learnt from comrades, who had fought on the right wing: how easily they had chased away Wallenstein’s false cavalry detachments at first; how they had made it almost into the Imperials’ flank and to their train until Pappenheim’s riders came out of the blue and fell on them. How frantic the search for the king had become since his horse had been spotted, racing without its rider across the battlefield, bleeding from a shot wound in its neck. How the rumour spread that all was lost. Then, how news had come that the king was wounded, but safe. Safe in the neighbouring village, Duke Bernhard had said. But actually it was King Gustavus Adolphus’ looted dead body that was taken to the church of Meuchen while his army fought on, cheered on by their commanders to show themselves worthy of His Majesty who expected them to win the battle. And regiment after regiment had been wiped out at Wallenstein’s trench line.

Benjamin watched the captain’s grief-stricken mien. The man still felt for the soldiers he had led into death. Even if he had been discharged in dishonour, the captain made a great ambassador of the Swedish army. The Saxon officers listened in rapt audience.

Benjamin, however, couldn’t keep his mind on regiment names or flags lost and won. Sitting half turned to the officers’ table, he watched von Innow who answered questions, explained details. But in secret he wondered about one thing: how von Innow intended to spend the night.

And what he himself should do. Run now? Sneak out of this room? Excuse himself for a walk to the privy – and never return? But from time to time von Innow’s glance fell on him, like now, while the captain took a swig from his tumbler. Benjamin gazed back, worrying his lower lip. Four thalers and one night. Would Father Michael forgive him that wilful sin?

‘What do you worry about Father Michael!’ the devil groused. ‘To the priest you can lie, but to the Lord you can’t pretend that it’s a _fait accompli_ already!’

 _I don’t regard it as such!_ Benjamin objected. Gazing at von Innow he wondered what the captain intended to do to him this night. Pull him into his bear hugs of course. Kiss him? Probably. Everywhere, like the last time? Even down there? To his shame, he felt a telltale stirring in his groin when he thought about the possibility that von Innow might kiss his cock again. Suck at it. _I’m doomed!_ Benjamin thought, staring at von Innow’s lips. The captain was smiling. Not at him right now, but at another officer’s quip, and yet Benjamin couldn’t avert his eyes.

“He seems to like you, doesn’t he?”

“What?” Benjamin stared at the lieutenant in shock. Was it that obvious?

“I wonder why you don’t stay with the Swedes and make a career in the military?” the young officer asked. “That captain considers you worthy enough to share his food with – no offence meant – a prisoner after all! You must have made some impression. I bet he would support you. And what’s so great about printing that you prefer it to the chance to rising above your station as tradesman?”

 _Yes, what’s so great about printing?_ Benjamin knew enough of it to explain the work process. But what pride in ‘his’ trade had he to express? And had the lieutenant’s first question really held no innuendo? Benjamin opted for the standard way out to solve the printing question: a white lie that Father Andreas had recommended because it worked almost every time.

“Well, it’s not the printing in itself, but there’s my master’s daughter.” He felt uncomfortable enough with that excuse to look actually embarrassed.

But Father Andreas was to praise: the young officer fell for his tried and tested diversion tactics.

“Oh, I see!” The lieutenant beamed, and the very next moment Benjamin had to listen to a young man going into raptures about a certain lady Amalia who lived on an estate near Meissen. The poor sod even wrote poems for her in his leisure time. And he was sick with worry that Wallenstein’s troops might overrun her estate during their withdrawal.

“Having them as enemy now is hell: they burn and ruin everything, slay every living soul, steal the crop. No-one is safe now! Honestly, challenging Wallenstein by allying himself with the Swedes was the worst thing our Elector could do!” the lieutenant complained. “Admittedly, the Swede forced him, but so far we've always fared well at the Emperor’s side!”

“But for how long would you do for that Emperor who pretends that he’d rather rule a desert than an Empire full of ‘heretics’?” growled a well-known voice behind them. Benjamin started. He had forced himself to listen to the lieutenant and to look at him, and thus he hadn’t heard von Innow step up behind him.

“Well, so far he hasn't taken offence in our being Lutheran,” the young officer said lamely. He was obviously cowed seeing the battle-proven older man looming above him. Benjamin turned and saw von Innow frown sternly at the lieutenant.

“With his Edict of Restitution the Emperor strives to turn the whole Empire into a second Bohemia: driving out all the Protestant nobility and forcing everyone else under the Jesuits’ yoke!” Von Innow’s hand fell onto Benjamin’s shoulder. “Talk to the exiled Bohemians in your army, Lieutenant, and then think again if the current trouble isn’t worth bearing!”

The lieutenant nodded sheepishly.

Benjamin’s shoulder got an encouraging pat. “Finish your beer, lad. The colonel gave us a room for tonight, so we don’t have to stumble through the town at night-time.”

Benjamin froze. Suddenly his stomach cramped.

‘Now you’re in for it!’ his devil sneered.

Slowly, Benjamin rose from the bench. “Good luck, Lieutenant,” he said, fighting for an even voice and wondering if a “the Lord be with you” as farewell would give him away.

The young officer nodded with a heartfelt sigh. “You’re lucky, man! I have to ride all the way back!”

“Ah, by the way, Lieutenant,” von Innow said, loud enough for everybody else to hear, “when you return to your position you might want to look for a certain Major von Hassfurt and the bunch of deserters who ride with him. Duke Bernhard of Saxony-Weimar will pay a high reward for them. I heard something about five hundred thalers for the whole lot.”

That got the lieutenant’s interest. “Thank you, Sir!” he beamed, downed the rest of his beer and jumped up from the bench in new-found enthusiasm. At the table two officers rose more discreetly.

Benjamin chuckled. If the major would dare come after them he would be in for a nasty surprise. As would Duke Bernhard. Deserved the bastards right!

He looked up at von Innow and got a wink and a smile in answer to his own grin. But when the captain told him to gather the saddles and baggage, Benjamin felt his heart sink into his boots. Any chance to run was long gone, and the idea of spending the night in sin felt horrible now that it was about to happen.

# Chapter 31

 “Lend me a hand, Benjamin; I’m stuck in this thing like the devil in the chimney!” Von Innow groped for the buckles that held the shoulder guards of his cuirass on the back.

 _Then I’d rather leave you there_ , Benjamin was about to say, but he felt too bad for quips.

As the captain had said, they had got a room. But the Saxon colonel obviously didn’t value the Swedish army or the captain’s information enough to give von Innow one of the inn’s lodgings his own men had occupied. Instead, all that was available was a servants’ room in the attic. It was icy, and von Innow had to lower his head to stand up in it.

Without a comment, Benjamin opened the two buckles. Then he returned to his self-imposed task of wringing and hanging up his soaked blankets. They would not dry in this room, but might at least drip-dry, and perhaps they would keep the draught off the bed.

With clank after clank, the captain freed himself if the cuirass parts and stacked them behind the door. Anybody trying to come in at night would cause an awful noise. Or anybody trying to sneak out …

“Now, little one, no such face!” Von Innow rolled his shoulders, clearly relieved to be rid of the heavy metal. “I know it’s not Mrs. Sommer’s house. But it’s a room, and we’re already in Leipzig. Isn’t that something?”

“It is.” Benjamin couldn’t muster any enthusiasm. They would undress, they would crawl into that narrow bed, and then they would sin. But unlike before, he wasn’t looking forward to it now that it was about to happen: the Lord would know. The Lord would be offended. Something would go terribly wrong tomorrow. It had to.

Benjamin cast a glance at von Innow. The captain was unlacing his buffcoat. Benjamin looked away.  _You don’t want to see him undress!_

To busy himself, he opened the roll with the spare blankets. The innermost two were dry. He flung them onto the straw bag. The slightly wet blankets made the top of the stack. Though an inn should provide them, there were no sheets, or the Saxon officers had taken them all.

Thinking of the Saxons reminded Benjamin of a question he had wondered about the whole afternoon: “This lieutenant-colonel you said you were looking for, does he really exist?”

“Of course.” Von Innow shrugged out of the buffcoat and hung it onto a bedpost. Then he dropped onto the bed and busied himself with his boots. “We once rode in the same regiment for Christian of Brunswick. And when I met Glagenau, to my surprise, last year at Breitenfeld, we agreed to have a beer after the battle. Well,” with a loud moan he pulled the first boot off, “have you heard about that battle? When they actually had to fight, the whole shiny Saxon army turned on their heel and ran like hares. Therefore, he still owes me a beer.”

“Are you considering joining the Saxon army now?”

“Hardly, as long as they’re our … as they are allies of the Swedish army. That’s too close for my liking.” The other boot came off.

“So where will you go then?”

“Good question. Wherever there is a war without the Swedish army involved, or Duke Bernhard anyway.” Von Innow looked up, sounding clueless himself.

“You could come with me tomorrow,” Benjamin suggested.

Von Innow snorted with laughter. “Join the Jesuits? Me?”

Benjamin rolled his eyes. “Of course not! But you are a good officer, and the Emperor …”

“Certainly not!” the captain said with an edge. “These bastards burnt down my family’s estate, and I won’t have them back in Mecklenburg, I swear!”

 _But we will be back!_ Benjamin crossed his arms and gazed at the captain in a morose mood. He didn’t want to see von Innow dead – God forbid –, but would the man never see reason?

Instead of being reasonable, the captain winked at him with a lopsided grin.

“Now, we had that deal about one night and four thalers, do you remember?”

“Of course I remember!” Benjamin said in a voice as icy as the room. “But I have to say my prayers first!” With that he turned his back to the heretic and knelt down, crossing himself.

_Lord, send lightning and strike that bastard down!_

“One prayer, Benjamin, not hundred fifty psalms again.”

 _Oh, go to hell!_ Benjamin laid his palms together and said the Pater Noster. But just in mind, so he could add the things he really had to tell the Lord.

_Lord, forgive me what I’m going to do. I have no excuse for it. I agreed to that horse-trade in the hope of saving the Order trouble and money …_

‘Hypocrite!’ Sadly, it was not the Lord, but his own devil of conscience who spoke to him.

Benjamin moaned. _Yes, a hypocrite, that’s what I am! Lord, I’m not worthy of thy grace, but please help me, now and tomorrow! Let Father Michael not break the seal of confession when he meets the captain, and please, I beg you, let it not be the Spaniard or Bruckmann of all people who’ll lead the negotiations! As for the captain …_

Powerless, his hands fell into his lap. _Lord, I’m not worthy of even asking. I let my chances to run pass idly, and I’m about to break my vow I made in my last confession, and I plead for a heretic._

He hung his head and wished Father Andreas might be present to beat resolve and reason into him as the older priest had done so often. But instead of his father confessor, the only one who was there was that sinner.

Benjamin glanced at von Innow from the side.

 _Lord, help me!_ The heretic was taking off his breeches.

 _If I run, surely he won’t come after me in just his shirt and doublet?_ Benjamin turned his head to eye the saddles and the cuirass parts that blocked the door. Too much stuff to sweep it away with the door. _The Lord will punish us! We will burn for it! If not at the stake, then in eternity for certain!_

Von Innow put away the breeches, his doublet and hose onto the small chest next to the bed. He placed his pistols and his sword that already sat there on top of the clothes. To Benjamin’s relief, he was modest enough to keep his shirt on. He crawled under the blankets, tossed and turned to find himself a comfortable position in the much too short bed. Finally, a satisfied grunt signalled that the bear was well settled in his new lair.

“Come to bed.” The captain lifted the blankets in invitation.

For a moment, Benjamin imagined a groom offering with this gesture his bride her place in their matrimonial bed. _What a sick idea! As if he had ever lain with a wife, the obstinate sodomite that he is!_

Seeing von Innow’s hopeful face, Benjamin wondered what the man was hoping for. A few moments of lust of course, but then?

_Know ye not that the unrighteous shall not inherit the kingdom of God? Be not deceived: neither fornicators, nor idolaters, nor adulterers, nor effeminate, nor abusers of themselves with mankind,  
Nor thieves, nor covetous, nor drunkards, nor revilers, nor extortioners, shall inherit the kingdom of God._

Thundering these words of Saint Paul, Father Andreas had pointed at David and Thomas. In his mind’s eye, Benjamin saw the two boys staring scared at their assembled classmates before they were flogged.

And how could Father Michael be so certain that the redcoats hadn’t been his just punishment to deter him from his leanings? Benjamin shuddered when remembering the agony, the mindless fear: that would be his fate in eternity if he could not resist temptation.

Like in his Exercises he imagined the sulphurous pit, could see in his mind’s eye the devils who were about to torture him with red-hot pliers. Unlike during his Exercises, however, now he knew they would rape him as well. And how it would hurt. He crossed himself.

He started when von Innow let the blankets drop.

“Look, if lying with a man really made the Lord send bad weather and heathen invasions, I wouldn't have seen the sun for years, and the Turks would rule everything up to the north of Sweden,” von Innow said in that reasonable tone of voice that made Benjamin’s hackles rise at once.

He frowned at both the tone of voice and the content of the statement. Actually, it made him furious.

“Listen!” he hissed, pointing a finger at the captain. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing! The Lord let us escape, granting us … _you_ … a chance to better yourself, and all you strive for is to offend Him the very next night with the very same sin you were accused of! Even your Calvinist commander knew the Lord’s verdict on your crime, but you think you can ignore it? Imagine in your blindness as long as you want that the Lord has left you! But the Lord is here! Watching you! Every moment! Every word you say, every move you make! And what will become of the negotiations tomorrow if we wallow in sin now!”

The heretic rolled his eyes. “Dear Lord, if you're really hiding in the beams to watch over this ‘soldier’ of yours, tell me please why you had to saddle me with this ungrateful, sanctimonious … devil!”

Benjamin ducked his head and crossed himself in the face of such blasphemy. For a moment he wished for, even expected the Lord to appear in a bright flash like he once had made Saul see the light.

He caught himself clasping his hands and praying for such a miracle. But nothing happened. The room was still only lit by the tallow candle as before – and dark and cold otherwise. Outside the house, dogs were barking, and a night watch admonished the good citizens in broad Saxon to go home.

Benjamin waited for a few more moments, then let his hands drop.

_Well, he consoled himself over his disappointment. Certainly you do not need a miracle that might impress pagans like in the Legenda! You know that the Lord is here, after all!_

‘But what if the heretic is right? What if the Lord has left you as well, disgusted by your sinful yearning?’ the devil suggested.

 _No! No, this is not possible!_ Benjamin clenched his fists and squeezed his eyes shut. _Do not even think such a terrible thing!_

He started when he heard the straw bag rustle. The captain had pushed himself up on an elbow and frowned at him.

“Come on, Benjamin. We both know you had chances enough to run this evening – which you didn’t do. Now don’t be coy! There is no sense in freezing to the floor boards out of piety.”

 _Don’t you mock me!_ But the heretic was right. He had made no use of the chances, and now he was in for it. With a moan Benjamin sat down on the bed and unlaced his shoes. _If I don’t take pleasure …_

His devil brayed with laughter.

A hand fell on his back, rubbed up and down on it.

“I care about you, lad,” von Innow said in a soothing tone of voice, “and I promise I won’t hurt you.”

 _Oh, glory!_ Benjamin threw his shoes onto the heap of cuirass parts, grateful for the loud clatter.

_You won’t hurt me, but the Lord will know that I’m not able to keep my resolutions! Every time I promised not to succumb again to sin I failed. What if I go on like this?  The Lord will know, will see through me, and all there is is a miserable sinner and hypocrite …_

‘… who’ll end up in the deepest pits of hell!’ he heard Thomas say.

‘… who will be not fit to become a Jesuit,’ Father Michael’s voice added.

Benjamin bit his lower lip to keep himself from crying out loud in despair when he unbuttoned his jacket. To take it off and his breeches as well, he had to stand up.

Just in his shirt, he felt as helpless as last night when he had been dragged into the interrogation room. The memory alone made him hug himself. He had been grabbed by the executioner, held down, examined in the most demeaning way. No honest man would even talk to him now, but von Innow … von Innow wished to touch him.

_If I tell him, perhaps he won’t touch me?_

‘He didn’t care last night, why would he now?’ the devil answered. ‘And as a convicted sodomite, he’s dishonest too. You might as well sleep with the executioner himself.’

Shivering in disgust, Benjamin hung his head. The captain was certainly watching, but he couldn’t look at the man now. He went to the bed.

The blankets were lifted for him.

_Damn! Save yourself this courtesy!_

But a very smug-looking Captain held them open for him …

… and used the opportunity to grab him right away.

“Oomph!” Benjamin ended up plastered against Captain von Innow, his cheek on the man’s chest, and a kiss was smacked on the crown of his head.

 _Damn you!_ The bed was already full of von Innow and lying halfway upon the man was … awkward to put it mildly. Benjamin tried to wriggle away, but a hand on the small of his back and another one on the nape of his neck held him where he was: pressed with his groin against the captain’s hip. Where to put his legs? Across the man’s loins? Entwined? _No way!_

He groaned in protest and tried to push himself up. The captain, however, seemed to take that moan as encouragement. Benjamin felt his thighs being covered by another leg, and a foot was hooked behind his knees and pulled them forward. Between von Innow’s legs. Benjamin gasped in surprise at being ‘embraced’ there as well. But when von Innow put a hand on Benjamin’s hips to press their groins together, he flinched with a whine. Not there! His bruises reminded him at once of the hands of the executioner, of the redcoats.

The captain clutched him in a bear hug, rocked them a little. “Whoa, little one, easy,” he cooed as if soothing a horse.

Benjamin was about to protest that he was no horse at all, but von Innow continued, “Last night when you crawled under my jackets and slept on my belly, that was nice. Could you do that again?”

_I’d rather slap you like last night!_

Benjamin ground his teeth. Admittedly, he had found a little comfort in lying on the captain then, huddling against him to partake of his body heat. But then, the man had been bound! Now he was holding Benjamin tight and rubbing circles on his back, rumbling with satisfaction.

_Lord, help me, I’m not just lying with a man, but a bear!_

‘Which makes it a double case of sodomy,’ the devil quipped.

Benjamin laughed out in despair. “Lord, help me, a sinner!”

“The Lord will forgive you, no doubt,” the heretic said. “And he certainly doesn’t insist that you pinch me.”

“Huh? Oh!” Benjamin forced himself to relax. He let go of the captain’s shirt and the flesh beneath that he had grabbed when digging his fingers into the fabric.

“There!” Von Innow sighed with relief and nuzzled Benjamin’s head. His hand came up and stroked his hair. From the comfortable humming the man made he seemed to enjoy that very much. Well, if he kept it at this, Benjamin wouldn’t complain. It felt strange to be petted. Not bad, actually.

Tentatively, he let one hand slide across the other man’s chest, following the curve of the ribs until he touched the blanket that covered their straw bag. He wouldn’t push his fingers under the captain’s shoulder. Better not to get trapped, now that the man had his hands free.

Again Benjamin felt lips pressed against his head, close to his hairline this time, and a beard scratched over Benjamin’s forehead. But as long as it stayed at that …

Surely it wouldn’t.

Von Innow put a finger under Benjamin’s chin and tipped his head back. Damn that beard! Now Benjamin’s nose was in for a scratch as his forehead received a tender kiss. His frown line got another. Benjamin tried to push back, but a heavy hand cupped the back of his head, and the tip of his nose was nipped first and kissed then.

This had to stop, or the next time von Innow would kiss him right on the lips!

With vigour, Benjamin pushed against the captain’s hand that held his head. Von Innow took his hand away. It fell, however, onto the small of Benjamin’s back. He would not escape the man completely.

“Listen, lad,” von Innow growled, annoyed. “To spare you the gallows I got slapped in the face like an insolent peasant! Don’t you think I deserve at least a kiss for bearing such a shame on your behalf?”

Groaning, Benjamin hung his head. Clutched as he was, he pressed his forehead against the captain’s shirt. And his chest at that. Flesh. Crude matter that got always misled by the evil spirit and put his soul in danger of eternal damnation. _If I give in again, I’ll become like all these hypocrites who sin, crawl sanctimoniously to confession, knowing that they will sin and sin again._

After a while of silence, von Innow asked in a small voice. “Am I really that disgusting to you?”

 _No… Not really._ Benjamin shook his head. _But the sin is. And hell will be._

But how to explain this to the heretic?

The captain sighed, disappointed, even bitter. He didn’t try to kiss or nuzzle again. His hand came up and fingers ran over Benjamin’s head, combed through his hair. For a long time, the only sound was von Innow’s breathing – and his heartbeat under Benjamin’s ear when he turned his head to draw breath more easily.

Benjamin didn’t dare move. He felt for the captain, but he was also wary. Would von Innow’s disappointment change to fury, to cruelty? Nobody would care if the captain beat him – in the eyes of the Saxon officers he was just a prisoner, the captain’s property until the ransom was paid.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. Carefully, he stroked the captain down his upper arm. It felt like touching a wolfhound. One could never say when the beast might snap. But the captain didn’t snap, but continued to caress Benjamin’s hair, so Benjamin dared stroke him again, rubbing von Innow’s arm with the back of his fingers. Perhaps giving comfort would turn out to be enough. Would distract him from seeking lust. It felt strange enough. Not bad actually. He wondered how stroking bare skin would feel.

“Now,” von Innow suddenly mumbled. “Will you tell me about her?”

“Huh?” Benjamin stopped and looked up.

“Oh, come on!” von Innow growled. “You can’t bring yourself to accept a kiss from me, but listened half the evening to this milksop of a lieutenant, and all I heard from him was ‘Lady Amalia this, Lady Amalia that’ until he came up with this shite about his Elector’s politics! Which lady did you leave behind in Mainz? Or is there a kitchen maid inconsolable that her favourite choir boy is missing in the Sunday Mass?”

Benjamin had to chuckle. “No, I swear, there is no lady! Nor a kitchen maid.” The idea was so outright stupid that he laughed out. His devil snorted with laughter, and certainly it was the devil that made him add, “That is, of course I can’t know if there is some lady missing me in case I had a secret admirer. Or a flock of them.”

“Ah, a whole flock ... If you sing that well then I wonder why you still have your balls.”

“Captain!”

Von Innow chuckled and hugged him close. “No lady then. What about a not so secret admirer? No sworn brother among your fellow students?”

“No!”

“But there’s certainly someone _you_ admire in secret, is there?” von Innow went on.

“No!” Benjamin felt his hackles rise. “Some people simply don’t strive for … well, lust.”

“Hmm,” the heretic rumbled. “They may not strive, but they’re certainly able to experience it, aren’t they?”

Benjamin frowned at the smug undertone of that statement. Thinking of von Innow’s aim, he got furious.

He had not much space to draw back his fist for a blow, but he cuffed von Innow in the shoulder and hoped it hurt. “The last time you made me ‘experience’ lust, I was punished with the redcoats! And I do not understand how you can care not at all about your own soul! The day you’ll die …”

“… I’ll go to hell, and you can look down from you cloud in heaven and gloat and crow ‘I told you so’ all day long!”

“I will certainly not gloat!”

“Oh, come on! You are already!”

“I'm not!”

“Yes, you are!” A slap on Benjamin’s buttock emphasised that statement.

“Captain, you’re beyond saving!”

“Yes, perhaps I am,” von Innow said in a suddenly serious voice. “And I can’t help thinking that the Calvinists might be right in saying that some people are chosen while other ones are cursed from the beginning, and whatever you do you won’t become a better man.”

“But that’s awful!” Benjamin exclaimed. Remembering that this house was full of Lutherans, he forced himself to whisper. “That clearly shows how misled they are! Everybody has a free will to choose the right path or to succumb to sin. If you just decided to become a better man and marry and to stay away from sodomy …”

Von Innow shook his head. “Just decided? Do you think I never tried? Tried to ‘better’ myself, tried to bribe the Lord with all my prayers and promises? He made me that way, Benjamin! I’ve lain with women: out of curiosity first, for comfort in cold nights later. But the feeling ‘That’s the one I want to be with’, that feeling I only had with men.”

 _Lord help me!_ He knew that feeling, the awful realization of desire where desire was forbidden.

“And save yourself the trouble of asking,” von Innow went on. “Yes, that feeling applies to you as well.”

Benjamin moaned, shaking his head.

“If the Lord wants to judge me for my deeds, well, let him!” von Innow growled. “But I intend to have a word with him why he caused me all that trouble and took away everyone and everything from me just the moment I thought I made it. And again and again at that!”

With a bitter laugh he added, “But, after all, I must have gotten more successful in my sinful ways if the Lord now sets his own soldiers upon me!”

He clutched Benjamin close and pressed his face into Benjamin’s hair. “Stay with me, Benjamin, I beg you.”

From his heavy breathing Benjamin wondered if the man was weeping in silence. He didn’t know how to refuse politely, how to console the sinner. He had to admonish him just to try harder, to resolve to sin no more and to stay firm in his resolution, if he wanted to be in the Lord’s favour again. But von Innow certainly wouldn’t listen and would probably spout even more blasphemies instead.

And to stay with him? He saw himself riding with von Innow, saw the captain shot in battle, saw himself surrounded by hundreds of redcoats, shot from his horse and slain, raped, and left to die in mud and rain.

Benjamin hugged von Innow. He felt helpless. At least he had proof now that von Innow wasn’t the obstinate sinner he pretended to be!

But an experienced priest was needed here, someone who knew how to guide with carefully chosen, even gentle words. All he would do was to set fire to the next cask of black powder.

Father Michael would be certainly up to the task. Hopefully, the Austrian would have survived the battle and still be in Leipzig, caring for the wounded despite his plans to travel to Prague. It would do von Innow good if the negotiations on ransom became longer. _Lord, please let us lead this one back to the right path! Apart from his leanings towards sodomy, he’s a brave officer. If he repented and converted he would be a gain for the Emperor’s army and the Catholic cause._

The captain was fighting hard to get his breath under control. Benjamin pushed himself up a little to make breathing easier for him. To show that he was not sneaking away he squeezed the captain’s shoulder in encouragement. “Things will get better, Captain, don’t doubt that.”

“That from the man who constantly predicts me hell? Great!” Von Innow sniffed wetly and ran his hand across his face. When his hand dropped onto his chest there his eyes shone wet.

It pained Benjamin to see the sinner’s despairing mien. No, Benjamin decided, a chaste kiss to console him wouldn’t be that terrible. To kiss his cheek wouldn’t be a sin. He leant in and kissed von Innow on the left cheek, the unblemished one. He let his lips linger there for a moment longer than it was decent, but he wanted the captain to know that he meant what he said.

“Please know that I am grateful that you spared me the gallows, and I’m awfully sorry for all the troubles I caused you. It’s just …” Fighting for words he looked von Innow in the eye. “Please understand: my future lies elsewhere, and you certainly want a lover who is not afraid to give you the kind of loving you crave.”

He flinched when the captain’s fingers touched his cheek and his lips. But he was not grabbed and forced down. It had been just a caress, and von Innow let his hand drop.

“This is outright cruel, Benjamin, to show me what I could have, but refuse it at the same time.”

Benjamin hung his head. “I’m sorry.”

“Well, then,” von Innow said with a deep breath and turned away from Benjamin, “let’s be sensible and pious and try to get some sleep.” He pulled up the blankets. “Good Lord, the thought alone of facing more of your kind tomorrow!”

Benjamin stared at him in surprise. The captain surrendered?

‘Shouldn’t you be relieved?’ the devil piped up.

_Yes, I should._

And yet it felt wrong. Utterly wrong.

Benjamin waited for a few minutes, but when von Innow didn’t say a word, he stretched out on the bed and blew out the candle. He tried to get comfortable in the small space that was left without touching von Innow. As he should, he lay on his back, put the hands onto the blanket, and said the Pater Noster in mind.

Then he waited for von Innow’s snoring. Which didn’t come.

Then he waited that von Innow would do something sinful. Which didn’t happen.

From time to time there was a heavy sigh and a rustle as the captain fought for a comfortable position in the too short bed.

Benjamin worried his lower lip. He wanted to talk to von Innow, yet he didn’t know how to put it. His chest hurt and he felt rotten.

_The feeling ‘that’s the one I want to be with’, that feeling I only had with men._

Right. That was the reason why his classmates called him sanctimonious. They didn’t even know of his awful leanings, but scorned him because he didn’t lust after the girls they were ogling. But casting secret glances at men, thinking of them when tainting himself, that was the reason why he had to confess so often, why Father Andreas beat him so hard. That was the reason why he still felt so terrible when he remembered Thomas. ‘Brothers’ in the same unspeakable sin, and yet he had given him away.

_I didn’t want it, I just was so confused … I’m so sorry._

Would the heretic understand? Certainly not. He would consider him even more disgusting. A traitor. But he wanted to talk. He had to explain why he could not succumb to a life in sin.

“It was just that …” Benjamin cleared his throat and wondered if he should go on or would offend von Innow even more. _Just do it, coward!_ he told himself.

“Some years ago, in our college two students were caught in the act.” No, he couldn’t tell the captain that he had betrayed them.

“One of them was a classmate of mine, the other one was an older student, our tutor in Latin. They were flogged in front of all the assembled classes to teach us a lesson, and they were expelled then. David, my classmate, was not from Mainz, and nobody came for him. He just left, limping through the gate. I don’t know what became of him. He was never seen again. The other one, Thomas, was the son of the … well, a very important citizen, and that man came to fetch his son. In front of all people, he slapped Thomas in the face so hard that his lip broke and he spat blood then.”

For some reason he felt von Innow flinch at the last sentence. But probably the reason wasn’t that odd. Last night, the captain had mentioned an unforgiving father.

“When we were allowed to leave the college two weeks later, I learnt that Thomas had committed suicide on top of the … well, what he had committed before. I felt terrible and prayed a lot for his soul, but my father confessor said it was right that he went to hell.”

“Rubbish!”

“Yes, it might be rubbish!” Benjamin said with vigour. “But you’ll certainly understand why I’m so afraid of … well, lying with a man. It’s not because of you, but due to the … matter: it brings misfortune!”

“I bet the poor sod’s family caused him such a hell on earth that he chose the real one rather than staying with them any longer!” von Innow snorted. “If they didn’t kill him with their own hands and just called it a suicide!”

“You think that possible?” Benjamin started.

“It wouldn’t be unheard of.”

“Good Lord!” Benjamin crossed himself.

Von Innow growled at that. “Yes, the good Lord who said ‘Their blood shall be upon them!’” After a moment, he added in a friendlier voice, “Really, if you trust in God’s grace then you better suppose your friend to be in heaven.”

“I wish he were!”

“He **is**.”

‘Yes, believe him and end up a heretic yourself!’ the devil said. ‘Be sure to meet him down here!’

 _Oh, will you shut up eventually!_ Benjamin hissed.

Von Innow turned. Facing Benjamin, but not touching him, von Innow asked in a gentle voice, “You liked that fellow, didn’t you?”

“Yes, he was a friend. Not of the kind you might suspect, but I liked him,” Benjamin admitted. “He was witty and kind. I think he would have made a good pastor one day, if it hadn’t been for that” – no, he wouldn’t say ‘sin’ – “for that incident.”

“Incident?” von Innow sneered. “Benjamin, those sanctimonious bastards killed him! If not with their own hands, then by driving him to despair! Because it’s not so much the Lord you should fear, but your holier-than-thou neighbour, believe me.”

Benjamin felt as if he'd been slapped in the face by hearing the word ‘sanctimonious’ alone. And hadn’t Thomas himself cursed him as ‘holier-than-thou’ the last time he had seen him alive? In misery, Benjamin pressed the heels of his hands onto his eyes. _Forgive me!_

“Benjamin, lad!” There was concern in von Innow’s voice, and then there was a big hand back on his chest, rubbing it gently. “There is nothing bad in loving! And your father confessor is nothing but a cruel ass! Of course your prayers helped your friend to go to heaven! Trust in the Lord, Benjamin!”

“Wasn’t it you who said the Lord had left us long ago?” Benjamin fought to bite back the tears.

Von Innow sighed. “Benjamin, I lost most of my men in that battle, and then lost everything I had in that damned trial! I can’t help thinking that way when everything goes wrong! Yet I am convinced that all the ones I loved are in heaven – whatever any clerics say! I simply trust in that! And so should you!”

 _God, no! I will not cry!_ Angrily, Benjamin wiped at his eyes.

“Come on,” von Innow whispered and wriggled closer, “Let me hug you a little. Just for comfort, not for sin.”

Benjamin shook his head. He didn’t dare to say no, because if he opened his mouth right now he would sob. But in the darkness of their room, von Innow probably didn’t see the gesture. He was grabbed and pulled against the captain’s chest, and von Innow tucked Benjamin’s head under his chin.

‘Why don’t you tell him all of it?’ the devil suggested. ‘I bet he wouldn’t want to comfort you if he knew what a Judas he’s consoling! He wouldn’t even care then if you hung from the beams in the morning!’’

 _NO!_ Benjamin huddled against von Innow. _No, he would care!_

“It’s a strange thing anyway that those who preach compassion know themselves so little of it,” von Innow mused aloud. “Give me your hand, Benjamin?”

“What for?” But he didn’t refuse when von Innow tugged at his arm. His hand was grabbed and pulled up, and his fingers ended up on the captain’s nose.

“Do you think I was born with such a conk?” von Innow said as soon as Benjamin had pulled his hand back. “Hardly. And if you think that’s an honest battle scar, I have to disappoint you. That’s what happened when my father learnt that I preferred getting fucked by two nice young men to running after the maidservants as my older brothers had done so eagerly.”

 _Preferred getting fucked? And by two?_ Benjamin flinched. How could one like such a thing? “But that hurts!” he blurted.

Von Innow chuckled. “Not when it’s done right. Or at least not much – nothing that wouldn’t be outweighed by the pleasure of it.”

Benjamin gagged with disgust. “I don’t want to hear any of it!”

“All right,” von Innow said. “I’ll shut up.” He rested his cheek against Benjamin's head, obviously content with just holding him. He was true to his word and didn’t talk, but after a while Benjamin wasn’t happy about this either.

In his mind’s eye he saw Father Andreas loom above him, shout at him, saw the hand twitch that slapped his cheek hard the very next moment. ‘What do you think you’re doing!’ And the next slap made his ear ring for several days.

He wondered about von Innow’s father. True, the captain was tall, and strong, but his old man had landed a good punch that must have smashed the bone to pieces. Hadn’t the captain mentioned last night that he had never been welcome home since he ran away – at seventeen? A self-righteous Bible-basher, he had said about his old man. _Surely that’s why he hates clergymen so much._

He also wondered about that Polish cavalry man whose death had made the captain so mad that he had killed a priest.

He wanted to know. Probably von Innow was the only one he could ask about the true nature of this sin without being warily scrutinized and subjected to the discipline more often. But von Innow would be gone tomorrow. With four thalers in his pouch and leading a bay horse with an empty saddle at the reins.

Benjamin hated the thought. For some reason he would miss his sinner badly. This much he already knew. He snuggled up at von Innow. When the captain was gone he would have to sleep alone again. He would hate that. But what could he do? For Jesuits it was forbidden to share a bed with another man. When travelling with Father Andreas, Benjamin had gotten a servant’s straw bag at the door of their room sometimes, but more often than not they had slept in the tavern room like travellers short of money: sitting on the bench and using the table and one’s own arms for a pillow.

And the last thing he wanted was to confess everything that had happened to him during the last week to Father Andreas. The man wasn’t a ‘cruel ass’ like von Innow assumed. He was just, but harsh. But what would he say if he knew that his protégé now lay in the arms of a Lutheran sodomite – and felt in good hands?

Benjamin moaned with despair. This was his last night with von Innow. He was loath to leave him, but he had to. But he wanted at least to know more of him.

“Would you tell me?” he asked. “How did you realize that you liked men better than your maidservants?”

“Hmm, I think I knew it somehow for quite a while – at least the part that I was not interested in the girls. “ Von Innow chuckled. “But the scales fell from my eyes that afternoon when I dashed into the room of two young gentlemen, shouting ‘they’ve got the boars in the peas, come out hunting!’ And then … well, I think my mouth hung open for the next minutes when I realized that it was not wrestling that had Jerzy’s legs on Achim’s shoulders and both of them sweating and panting so hard.”

“Oh, my God!” Benjamin snickered. “And then?”

“Well, Achim turned to me and said in a perfectly courteous voice, ‘Thank you very much, dear cousin, but I’m hunting down better game right here.’”

“And then?”

“Then I ran. Down to the yard where our hunters already waited with the hounds and the horses, but I wasn’t good for anything on that boar hunt. We, that is, the hunters bagged a few, of course, but all I could think of was my cousin and his friend and how to become part of their kind of ‘hunting’.”

“And did you manage?”

“Yes, the very next night in the hay.” Von Innow still sounded smug about it. “And I think I was the happiest lad in the wide world – until the day my brother Konrad gave us away.”

Benjamin swallowed hard, remembering his own awful treason. “But why?”

“What do I know!” Von Innow shrugged. “Jealousy? Scorn? A feeling of doing his duty?”

Benjamin rubbed von Innow’s back. “Would you tell me what happened then?”

“That’s no bedtime story, Benjamin.”

“I don’t expect it to be one. But I’d like to know.” If the captain had asked ‘what?’ he couldn’t have said anything but ‘everything’.

“Well, seeing that this night won’t witness us making love we might as well talk, mightn't we?” von Innow rumbled with an air of defeat.

Benjamin nodded. “Please.”

“All right then.” After a moment of pondering, von Innow started in a singsong tone like telling a fairy tale, “Once upon a time in the duchy of Mecklenburg-Güstrow there was a fine young lad called Kai von Innow.”

Von Innow snorted. “Well, no, that doesn’t work, because I have to tell you a few things about my family first, for some things on our estate were quite unusual. And in hindsight, it wasn’t for the sodomy alone that my father smashed my poor nose.”

# Chapter 32

“The most unusual thing and the reason for our troubles was my father’s weird ambition to be regarded as a scholar,” von Innow started to explain. “I don’t know where this ambition came from: any commoner with good wits can become a scholar! But he'd rather spend his days glued to a book than seeing to his estate. Instead of being ashamed of that neglect, he considered himself a wiser man and by that a better man than my uncles and the neighbours.”

Stroking Benjamin down the nose, von Innow asked, “Now, are you sleeping already?”

“Don’t get your hopes up so high, Captain,” Benjamin chuckled. “I’m all ears.” He felt comfortable in von Innow’s arms, now that the man was willing to talk instead of groping and kissing him.

“Well, then … when I was twelve years old, in the year … 1604 that is, my father had a bad riding accident: he ended up with a smashed knee. He was in constant pain afterwards and had to walk with a crutch. He lost all interest in leaving the house and supervising the estate, and he held a grudge against the ‘stupid’ horses. He said all that would distract him from the pain was his library and the discussions with his scholar friends. It was then that his attitude changed and he'd rather sell stud horses than go without the books he wanted to own. Before the accident he had been satisfied with prints, later he bought really expensive manuscripts like the Legenda tome Duke Bernhard had pinched – the devil may take him! As for my father, of course his scholar friends didn’t recommend restraint, but gave him ideas instead.”

Von Innow snorted with derision. “That’s why I have an idea of a book’s worth, my dear scholasticus. But I always valued our stud farm higher.”

Benjamin nodded. Von Innow seemed to wait for a comment, but when there was none, he went on with his tale.

“The constant pain my father was in also brought out his short temper even more. I remember that my parents used to quarrel before the accident because my father’s fancy pulled money out of the estate that was needed for maintaining buildings or buying new livestock. But back then they had argued in a civilized manner; later there was a lot of shouting and name-calling. My mother was a practical-minded woman who was of the opinion that one had to preserve and dutifully expand one’s economy for one’s children, but not to feed dozens of scholars who happened to have a taste for fine wine as well. I think you can imagine the arguments they had.”

No, this didn’t seem to become a bedtime story, but Benjamin was curious to hear it. His own parents were both practical-minded people and still seemed to be taken with each other. Aunt Käthe, on the other hand, had certainly shortened her late husband’s time on earth with her constant quarrelling.

“But what about you?” he asked.

“Me?” Von Innow shrugged. “I’ve never been much of a scholar myself. When I was a boy, nobody could ever convince me why one had to sit still in a room and learn letters when life was so much more interesting outdoors, in the stables and the kennels. As soon as I heard a horse I would crane my neck to see which one it was, and when a bird flew by all my thoughts flew with it. We had a housemaster to teach us reading and writing and sums as well. He was an old and patient man, and he had certainly seen enough pupils who had a hard time with learning, so he was not overly concerned about me. But my father was spoilt by the fact that my older siblings, Konrad, Elisabeth and Giso, learnt with ease. Soon, he blamed the housemaster for being a failure and took on teaching me himself. Now my lessons often ended with a red cheek or an even thrashing. It became especially bad when Latin was added to my syllabus. I outright feared and hated my lessons then, and soon I also hated my father.”

“But nevertheless, you learned your Latin well,” Benjamin pointed out. “You effortlessly translated my letter of credence.”

“Because I re-learned Latin later under a much kinder tutelage,” von Innow said. “One that gave praise for the things I could do and wouldn’t punish me for my shortcomings. Back then it was a painful experience, I assure you. Like everything else, it became worse after the accident.”

Von Innow huddled against Benjamin as if he still had to hide from his father’s wrath. No wonder that the captain regarded books just as merchandise and held no respect for them. Benjamin thanked the Lord that learning was easy for him. And what was being of noble birth good for, after all, when one was stupid and got beaten on a regular basis?

“The bad thing was that my father was a really captivating person when strangers were around, so nobody noticed how neglectful and scorning he had become towards his family and servants,” von Innow went on in a pensive voice. “My brothers Konrad and Giso took the earliest opportunity to leave for university and a really long foreign tour. Elisabeth jumped at the first candidate whose father asked about my parents’ plans for her. Fortunately for her, it was a good choice, and her husband respected her and loved her dearly. That left me and my younger sister Anna. She was a clever one and endeared herself to my father by learning and reading more eagerly than any young lady is expected to.

“To my relief, one day my father decided I was not worth the trouble and gave up teaching me. Or so he told his friends. Actually he threw a book at my head and shouted at me to leave his library and get lost if I were too daft to recognize the simplest conjunctives. Of course, my mother tried to mend fences, as she always did. But this time, I insisted that I would not go back and promise to do better – never ever. I would rather work with the stable-hands than be tortured with all that Latin and literature again. My mother was really upset about my stubbornness, but she understood as well that these lessons _were_ torture to me, so she finally let me have my way.”

“How old were you then?” Benjamin asked.

“Fourteen,” von Innow said with a chuckle. “The best age to become an apprentice. While our stable-master didn’t trust my father’s resolve in that matter, our estate manager took me under his wing. And I loved the things he had to teach about the plants, the cattle and the soil. From one day to the next, I was rid of my breakfast-time sickness, and life turned out to be worth living. Of course, as a son of the lord of the manor I was not ordered to do the really dirty work, but he made me work hard enough to teach me a lesson about the true value of a peasant’s work.”

In his mind’s eye, Benjamin saw a boy mucking out stables. Or did that already count as dirty work?

“And that was what I had become in my father’s eyes: someone degenerated to peasant station. With that, my fencing lessons were also cancelled. That hit me hard. The weekly fencing lesson with the instructor who came from Uncle Ulrich’s estate had been my greatest joy before. But I refused to eat humble pie and beg. Still, when the farm work was done I rode to my uncle’s estate for the fencing lessons. My mother always slipped me the coins. She was of the opinion that learning how to plough was not a shame for a young gentleman, but not knowing how to fence would be.”

Now Benjamin imagined a very young and lanky von Innow in a dust-speckled shirt and dirty trousers riding on a plough horse into a manor’s yard to mix there with some cousins who hardly recognized their relative. _No wonder_ , he thought, _that he wasn’t offended to ride a horse like Liese._

“Thus passed this summer. In autumn things got really bad. From some of his scholar friends my father learnt about the demise of another bookworm whose library was for sale now. This news pulled my father out of the house! He travelled by carriage now, and when he returned two weeks later, he brought boxes full of books and the duke’s stable master. My father had borrowed money to buy the books and now he owed the duke horses worth six thousand thalers. Imagine that! And the duke’s stable master had orders not to ‘buy’ young horses, but stud horses. Our best two stallions were selected, and seven younger brood mares. That meant they led the best part of our breeding stock away, ruining the life’s work of our stable master and his father.

“My mother was so outraged that she yelled at my father and called him a madman and irresponsible – and in front of his guests and our servants at that. She even rode to Güstrow to ask the duke to cancel the deal because it would ruin our estate’s breeding programme. She took me with her on that trip so that I would see a thing or two of the world. We were actually admitted to the duke. He was a very young man back then, barely growing a beard. But as we feared, the duke just said that it was not a wife’s station to counteract her husband’s decisions. He was courteous enough to add that he valued excellent horses and would care for them well.”

Von Innow snorted with derision.

“My poor mother was determined, however, to call a halt to my father’s prodigality. After we left the castle without having achieved anything, she headed to the court. She wanted to sue my father for being a bad housefather as other wives do with their husbands for adultery or for beating them too hard. She said that my father had gone mad, was ruining his possessions and would leave his children nothing. The judge in charge, however, turned out to be one of my father’s scholar friends. He said that he knew my father was not mad in the least, and the children could always sell the library later. So we were dismissed again.”

Benjamin couldn’t help feeling sorry for Lady von Innow. He had heard many stories of estates lost due to duels or gambling; perhaps a lady would know how to deal with misfortunes like that. But the captain’s father had been a strange sort indeed. Dukes collected books; bishops did it, but a provincial owner of a single manor?

“The house my mother headed for next was an inn,” von Innow went on. “She was a modest person, but that day she ordered herself a brandy, a second one, and a third one for me. To cheer her up, I quipped something along the lines that next time we would drive the horses into the woods and hide them there. At first she told me not to be silly, but then we thought up the plan to hide not all the horses, but to withhold only a few mares and most promising foals and secrete them on a remote outwork where normally pigs were kept. To my father we would pretend that there had been a disease in the stables.

“Of course our plan depended on the reaction of our estate manager and stable master and all the other farm hands and servants. But when we returned to the estate and my father said he didn't want to see his unfaithful wife at his table, everybody else was on her side. We didn’t shout our plan from the rooftops, and we started slowly, but over the next years we managed establish a hideout that would prevent the stud farm from being bereft of its best lines, and we also withheld a small part of the harvest to gain some money for repairs. Otherwise the estate would have been ruined long before.”

Von Innow sighed and nuzzled Benjamin’s ear. “Still not sleeping?”

“No, but actually I was curious to hear about your cousin and his lover – not about your horses.”

“Ah, my cousin …” von Innow chuckled. “My cousin showed up – or returned back home that is, in the summer of 1609, a few months before it all blew up. But at first, it seemed to be a promising summer, both in the fields and in the stables.

“When Achim came back from Rostock University, I hardly recognized the fashionable young gentleman who rode into the yard – right after a rather morose Uncle Ulrich. And there was another young gentleman with him whom I had actually never seen before. This one turned out to be Jerzy. Achim introduced him as a fellow student and his sworn brother.

“Uncle Ulrich couldn’t stop frowning at that newly-acquired son. Back then, I thought it was just because Achim and Jerzy had hatched the plan to continue their studies in Padua. Uncle Ulrich was a caring father, but with a small manor and nine children he had to be a thrifty one too. He was afraid these two were not interested in studies at all, but wanted a foreign tour – a thing he would not pay for a fourth son. And he was also wary: to have Achim examined if he had learnt anything at all during his time in Rostock, Uncle Ulrich had taken him to my father, the scholar.”

There was quiet laughter in von Innow’s voice when he continued. “I’ll never forget Uncle Ulrich’s mien during the lunch that followed: if I ever saw a person turn into the equivalent of a grumpy old owl then it was my uncle. As always, my father had half a dozen guests around, and one of them was a Doctor of Laws from the university in Greifswald. He examined the two, and it was a joy to see how well they answered. If one was at his wits’ end, the other one would rush to his aid. The doctor said that these two had learnt and understood their lessons very well. As a Lutheran he couldn’t recommend that someone studied in Catholic Italy, but he would welcome them in Greifswald any time.

“Uncle Ulrich grumbled something that he couldn’t afford that either, but promised to think about the suggestion. Then he said he would rather leave his son and his companion in such erudite company while he would mull things over. My father was fine with that, Achim and Jerzy too, and Uncle Ulrich left with the air of a man running away from trouble.

“For me, that was the start of a wonderful time,” von Innow said in a wistful tone of voice. “I didn’t miss my brothers much; Giso more than Konrad at that, but Achim was even closer to my age, just one year older than I. I had always admired him for his riding and fencing skills and his bright mood. When he had left for university and I didn’t meet him at the fencing lessons any more, I had been really sad. So I was more than happy to have him back, and I liked Jerzy at once.”

“What did they look like?” Benjamin asked to get a better idea about the heroes of the captain’s tale. During the last sentences, von Innow had sounded suspiciously like the young lieutenant when talking about his Lady Amalia.

“Look like?” Von Innow sounded baffled. “To our surprise, I was an inch taller than Achim at this time, and Jerzy was the smallest, about your height, I’d say. But he was a hell of a fighter. As for their looks … well, Achim was of a sandy blond like most of my mother’s family, while Jerzy was dark. When sunlight shone on his hair it was dark brown, but most of the time you would think of it as black. He had dark brown eyes as well. Both were much more handsome than me, each one in his own way. Achim was a kind of prankster, but the kind you couldn’t be angry at as soon as he smiled. And he smiled a lot. Jerzy was the more pensive of both, weighing his words, and it was not because he still struggled a little with the German language. Actually, I loved his accent. It made his words smooth in a rather cute way. When he really got stuck, he would continue in Latin, after some Polish swear word. These words I learnt eagerly, and suddenly I had a reason to learn Latin as well. They both wore moustache and beard, their clothes were in the latest fashion as well, and they carried rapiers and knew how to fence in the new Italian way. In their presence I realized what a peasant I was.

“But they didn’t mock me. On the contrary, Achim in his lively ways offered me at once to teach me fencing in their style, and Jerzy owned a pair of pistols and taught me how to use them like a cavalry man. It’s unnecessary to say that my father banned us from the manor for the time we caused so much noise.

“I enjoyed these lessons immensely and fancied myself a real cavalry man. Like every boy I had nursed daydreams of becoming a great general one fine day in case Konrad would take over when he returned from his foreign tour. In our family it had always been the way that the oldest son would inherit the whole estate, while the others got some money as an initial capital to make a living of their own. But truth to be told, these ideas of becoming an officer were fantasies, not plans, and the more I got involved in our shadow economy and had more responsibilities when our estate manager grew old, the more I had forgotten about them. In that summer I actually hoped that Konrad would let me manage the estate. Like my father, he felt destined for higher things – for diplomacy in his case. That he actually managed. Whatever diplomats are good for these days …

“Anyway, I was rather surprised how taken aback my friends looked when I told them about my secret after six weeks – after all, they had wondered where I went in the mornings, leaving them to sit around with the scholars which they did more out of politeness than out of interest. ‘Too much theology and morals here,’ they would say.”

“But why were they taken aback?” Benjamin asked, surprised himself.

“Jerzy said my father would think of me as a good-for-nothing who would meet girls in the villages when I was away. ‘Make sure you’ll have always a saddled horse at hand, just in case he finds out,’ Jerzy said. I just laughed then, unperturbed, because my father wouldn’t leave the house. And if he did then he would take a carriage to Güstrow, not to the remote outwork where I ran my own small stud farm. From a lawyer’s point of view everything I did was highly illegal, even if they understood why we were doing it.”

“But Jershy, from which family was he?” Benjamin interrupted to avoid more horse-breeding talk. His tongue stumbled over the Polish name.

“Oh, he was the natural son of a count,” von Innow said. “Unfortunately, that Count and Uncle Ulrich were both misers when it came to Italy. The count had offered Jerzy the post of a lieutenant in one of his regiments, but Jerzy was reluctant to take it. He had been with his father in the army at the age of fourteen, and he had no good memories of that time. He said of course it had been exciting at the beginning, but then he had hated it very soon. ‘Being a soldier means that you’re hungry and freezing your arse off in winter while you choke on dust in the summer, and all the time some Russians, Swedes, Turks or Transylvanians will wait to ambush you,’ he used to say.

“He had been in Rostock only for a stop on his foreign tour to listen to the lectures of some highly controversial astronomer, but then he had met Achim and stayed there for two years.”

Von Innow chuckled. “If you wonder whether that didn't give me an idea about the true type of their friendship: no, it didn’t. I just thought how lucky Achim was to have found such a true friend.”

“But their idea to go to Italy: was it really for studies or for a foreign tour?” Benjamin wanted to know.

“Both of it. Actually there was some famous lecturer there they wanted to see, but of course they were also curious to explore Italy. They both just lacked the money. Jerzy wrote letters to both his father and his mother’s family, but the latter were also of the opinion he had been away long enough and should find himself a post to make a living. Jerzy’s mother had retired to a nunnery after she fell out of the count’s favour, so she could not supply him with money; and his uncles, well, they had sons themselves.”

“So they sat around on your estate and waited for the unlikely case that your uncle Ulrich would give them an allowance?” Benjamin couldn’t feel sorry for these two useless noblemen.

“Actually, yes,” von Innow confirmed with a shrug. “What I didn’t know was that Uncle Ulrich refused to have Jerzy on his estate because he knew they were not just sworn brothers, but lovers. When I discovered them on their bed, well …”

This was followed by a long sigh, and the captain wriggled a little lower to nuzzle Benjamin’s neck.

“Then I understood a thing or two about Jerzy’s long stay at Rostock, and why they wanted to go for a ride without me from time to time.”

“I think you did,” Benjamin said, pushing against von Innow’s chest. “But please remember, I’m neither Achim nor Jershy.” Again he failed at the name that demanded a strange twist from his tongue.

Von Innow laughed gently. “You remind me of that fact every minute, little one. And what a pity it is! But there’s a thing I really should tell you. Perhaps you’ll understand then why I don’t think the Lord will hate us for a little carnal pleasure.”

“Let me guess: when you had a roll in the hay with your friends, there was no bad weather later ...”

“Hmm, it was even better,” von Innow rumbled, and his hand moved from Benjamin’s back to his waist, rested there, kneading the flesh in a gentle way.

 _Lord, no!_ Benjamin felt his own body respond to the caress. Not with fear, but with sudden arousal. He covered the captain’s hand with his own to still the movement. “Please don’t! You may explain, but don’t give me a demonstration.”

Von Innow took his hand away, put it on Benjamin’s shoulder.

“Well, let me explain then,” he said with an air of defeat. “Yes, we hid in the hay. But I didn’t think of it as sin then. Since the moment I had found them making love I wondered what it would be like, and I was aroused and eager to know. When we went up on the attic above the stable and into the hay, we dug ourselves a hole under the roof like we had done when we were children and dreamt of finding caves full of treasures. The sun wasn’t down yet, it was midsummer after all, and the air shafts let the light in. It was Jerzy who leant in first and kissed me on the lips, and it was so much better than I had imagined.”

Benjamin was certain that he wasn't imagining the captain leaning in as well. Von Innow’s breath touched his lips now, and the captain’s thumb that was supposed to stay on his shoulder ran along his neck, caressing him.

“I admit, it felt a little weird at first, because I had never been kissed like that before. But his kiss was gentle, and I wasn’t afraid. When his tongue stroked between my lips, I opened them, and it felt wonderful when he ran his tongue along the inside. It was arousing, much better than when I did it myself while giving me pleasure. And I felt even better when he took my lower lip between his and sucked on it …”

“Captain!” Benjamin cuffed von Innow in the shoulder. “Damn you! Tell me about the outcome, and don’t try to seduce me in this voice of yours.”

“What about my voice?” the heretic asked in the same husky tone in which he had described the kiss. It did weird things to Benjamin’s body.

“It’s lecherous!”

“Ah, is it?” Von Innow chuckled. “Forgive me. But the memory is so nice.” He sighed. “The outcome, well …”

“Let’s say, they introduced me to this sin quite thoroughly. While Jerzy was still kissing my lips, Achim kissed me everywhere else. And I’m certain you can imagine which part of my body liked it best to be kissed, and licked, and sucked …”

“You’re doing it on purpose!”

“What?”

“Oh, come on! You want to seduce me with this talk!”

“And who would not try to seduce you? You’re beautiful, Benjamin. Truly beautiful. When you’re asleep you look like an angel. Sadly, the devil comes out as soon as you open your mouth.”

“Why would you want to kiss it then?” Benjamin sneered, certain he had made a point.

“I’d take the risk upon myself,” the captain promised, still in that voice that made the little hairs on Benjamin’s neck stand on end.

And his arm that was under Benjamin pulled him a little closer.

Benjamin despaired. He had to end this. Right now. His flesh was already stirring.

 “One kiss, Benjamin,” von Innow begged. “A real one!” He shivered.

 _God, no!_ Benjamin turned his face to the other side. The captain’s lips touched his ear instead. A little wet lick, and the lobe of his ear was sucked on. Eagerly.

Benjamin gasped at that. What on earth was wrong with him? Even this stupid touch made his flesh twitch at once!

‘If you want to be true to your vows you'd better jump out of bed right now, stupid!’ his devil sneered. ‘What are you still doing there? Encouraging him?’

_Yes, what am I doing?_

In his mind’s eye Benjamin saw three young men, enjoying themselves in the hay. These were not the redcoats, but friends. Lovers. There was no rape. But stroking hands. Eager kisses. In his blackest fantasies Benjamin had tried to imagine what that must feel like. To lie with a man, enjoying himself and feeling no fear.

The hand that was supposed to be under his neck crept up and cupped his cheek, and a broad thumb searched for his lips and stroked them. Benjamin grabbed von Innow’s wrist. His hand fit scarcely around it. He clutched it tight, but was reluctant to pull at von Innow’s hand in earnest. It was lewd, but that thumb rubbing over his lips made fire run through his belly to his loins.

 _Damn!_ Benjamin moaned. He was supposed to refuse. He almost could see Father Andreas stepping out of the dark to beat him. ‘Kenneberg! How often will you disappoint me again?’

“Damn you!”

Von Innow let go of Benjamin’s ear. “No, not ‘damn you’, my beautiful. It’s ‘love you’.”

And with that he kissed Benjamin’s neck right below the ear. Von Innow was panting now, and he pushed a knee over Benjamin’s legs, trying to cover him there again as well.

_Lord, help me!_

Benjamin groped under the blanket to push against the leg. His hand touched skin, not linen. It felt surprisingly cool under his palm, smooth, but covering hard bone right there at the knee.

“Yes,” the heretic gasped against his neck. “Please.”

If he allowed him two inches more, this leg would not cover Benjamin’s hip, but his loins – which were in a shameful state already.

_God, why? Haven’t the damn redcoats been good for anything?_

‘Obviously you haven’t learnt your lesson yet.’ His devil looked like a redcoat now. ‘What if none of your brethren will be here tomorrow? What if they all are dead? What if they’re not dead, but the Saxons find out who you really are and hang you all?’

Benjamin whined with despair. He pushed von Innow’s hand off his face, wriggled and kicked until he could jump out of the bed. “For the love of God, Captain! We’ll fail tomorrow, if we go on like this!”

“The only thing that ‘fails’ here is you in being true to our agreement!” von Innow answered in a furious growl.

“Then I can’t help it! Ask as much money as you want for me, and see where this will get you!” Benjamin snapped. He longed to beat the heretic again. To his own surprise his fit of fury didn’t end the shameful state he was in. On the contrary: the thought of jumping at the heretic and punching him made his flesh harden and stand up fully erect.

 _Lord, I’m doomed!_ Instead of jumping at the heretic, he chose the floor. The floorboards were freezing cold. Good. They would deal with his animal nature. He lay down, facing the floor, his forehead rested on his hands. He hissed when his erection got trapped between his belly and the icy cold floor. Just a minute, and the temptation would be over. This was tried and tested.

There was heavy rustling and groaning on the bed. Fingers poked into his back. “What the hell are you doing?”

 _Dealing with the state you brought me into!_ “I rather choose the floor over your lecherous company!”

“I don’t believe it!” von Innow barked. “You’ll get a cold and die, you stupid cur! That’s all you’ll get for your morals!”

“At least I won’t end up in hell!”

That gave the heretic pause. Though Benjamin doubted it would be for long.

Of course, he was right.

“Tell me one thing then, Saint Benjamin,” von Innow said after a few minutes – minutes during which Benjamin regretted his brave words and clenched his teeth, because the floorboards were fu… awfully cold. He pushed himself up to his knees and hugged himself. At least his erection had wilted.

“Tell you what?” he hissed when von Innow didn’t go on.

“Why don’t you trust in absolution? Every Catholic I knew would sin boldly and go to confession later.”

“Yes, and pay lip service, but not be serious about his vow to stay away from the next occasion to sin!” Benjamin snapped. “That’s the point of absolution: your determination not to sin again. Don’t you imagine that the Lord can’t tell these sanctimonious ones from the truly contrite!”

“Hmm.” There was more rustling on the straw bag. As far as Benjamin could see, the heretic comfortably huddled into the blankets.  “Why do you say ’not to sin again’? When did we sin for the first time?”

“When you bound me onto your bed, remember?”

“Then I forced you. That’s no sin.”

“What do you know of sin – apart from committing it!” Benjamin clenched his fists. No, he would not tell the sinner how tempted he had been later! How much he had hoped to be ‘forced’ again. But then the redcoats had shown him what to be forced was really about.

“Do you want to know what happened after I lay with Achim and Jerzy for the first time?” von Innow asked, sounding suspiciously smug again.

“Because you didn’t get struck by lightning immediately, you thought you could get away with that sin,” Benjamin guessed.

“Lightning?” von Innow chuckled. “No, it was a fine summer night. The next day was a Sunday, a misty morning, and like all good boys do we went to church. That is, Achim and I went; Jerzy wouldn’t come with us because he was Catholic.”

_Certainly a bad Catholic if he wanted to stay with you at all!_

“I have to admit, I sat on hot coals, because that day our priest chose the Apostle Paul’s letters and ranted about who would not make it to heaven. Truth to be told, the man loved homilies and delivered them on a regular basis. But that morning I thought he had seen right through me. So I hesitated to attend Communion. But Achim nudged me in the ribs to go. So I went, almost expecting that the priest would point his finger at me and throw me out.”

_I bet he didn’t recognize you as a sinner, clueless heretic preacher that he was!_

“When we stepped in front of the altar, however,” von Innow went on, “the sun came out of the morning mist. It filled the church with light as if the Lord wanted to bless everyone inside it, including me. You can’t imagine how relieved I felt; even our priest suddenly smiled. Later he would say that had been a moment when everyone had really felt the presence of the Lord.”

“And because the sun came out by chance that morning you felt forgiven.” Benjamin crossed his arms in front of his chest. “That’s a positively pagan assumption, Captain.”

“I bet if that happened to you, you would swear it was a miracle and make a big fuss about it!” Von Innow sounded offended.

 _Perhaps I would._ Benjamin frowned at the sun. No wonder that occurrence had given the captain such a twisted idea of his sin. “So you took it as permission to go on and keep on sinning.”

“I understood that the Lord would not hate me for making love with the ones I loved,” von Innow said.

“Despite what’s written in the Bible!”

“Actually … yes.”

“But you’re not quite certain!” Benjamin gloated at the slight hesitation in von Innow’s voice.

“I won’t discuss the Bible with a Jesuit,” von Innow said in an uneasy tone. “I just know that those people who quoted the Bible at me were not fit to cast the first stone either. None of them!”

“Certainly not that extortionist major,” Benjamin agreed. He hugged himself. He was seriously cold now and regretted his retreat, brave as it had been. If he just had an idea how to worm his way back under the blankets! The prospect of dressing in his clammy clothes and spending the rest of the night in them was anything but tempting.

But the captain seemed to be able to read his mind – or he had seen him shudder. Von Innow patted the straw bag. “Now that you agree with me at least on this point, will you come back to bed, Saint Benjamin?”

“Don’t call me that.” Defeated, Benjamin sat down on the bed. When the captain made room for him and held open the blankets, he crawled under them, ashamed how grateful he felt.

“Now, there we are again,” von Innow rumbled. “I take it a good-night kiss is out of order, isn’t it?”

Benjamin had barely drawn a breath to answer when his shoulder was patted.

“Don’t get your hackles up, little one. It’s all right. I was just joking.”

 _Good._ Benjamin sighed with relief.

The answering sigh from the other side of the bed sounded frustrated.

_If it weren’t such a crucial day tomorrow … No. Don’t even think of it!_

Benjamin squeezed his eyes shut. _Sleep!_

But sleep eluded him.

It was so unfair! As soon as his mind drifted he imagined von Innow, a much younger one, rolling in the hay with two young men, one blond, one black.

 _Take your mind of it!_ he told himself. But how? Certainly it would help to hear more of von Innow’s story: especially about how these sinners were caught. Seriously, it couldn’t have been the Lord who sent his blessings on that joining?

He cast a glance at von Innow’s form in the dark. There was no snoring, but some heaved breaths as if the man was struggling with unpleasant thoughts himself.

“Would you mind telling me what happened later?” Benjamin asked in a small voice.

“For what? So that you can better gloat?”

“No, I just wanted to know.” Benjamin scolded himself for his curiosity.

“How I got my nose smashed and got beaten up so badly that I had to vomit for two weeks every time I tried to get up? That I had to run away like a thief in the night then, for my father was about to lock me up until I knew the whole Bible by heart?” von Innow sneered. “Sure. That’s a fine bedtime story for a church boy!”

“Forget that I asked! I just was curious what became of you and your friends.”

Von Innow turned to Benjamin. “Became of me? Well, the sorry old bugger you’re sharing a bed with. My friends? Both dead. And no, it was not the ‘just punishment’ for their sins! They just died as soldiers happen to do.”

“So they became soldiers, too, and didn’t make it to Italy?” For some reason the thought saddened Benjamin.

Von Innow growled, “No. None of us ever did. And now sleep!”

 _Easier said than done!_ But Benjamin didn’t dare ask further. It was a long night, but at some point he dozed off. The captain wasn’t snoring yet.

# Chapter 33

Bliss. Warmth. The rustle when he turns, it has to be hay. In a sun-warmed attic above the stables. Benjamin turns, snuggles up to the warm body next to him. There’s silken hair under his cheek now, and he nuzzles against sleep-warm skin and linen. All is well. Benjamin wraps his arms around his companion, dreams of a handsome young man, his friend Thomas perhaps. Or a young gentleman with an almost unpronounceable name. Heat is pooling in his belly, in his groin. He sighs, presses himself closer to the curve of back and thighs. There is bare skin against his. He doesn’t wonder why, just enjoys the feeling. He’s dreaming. He knows he’s dreaming. Must be dreaming.

Because that’s too good to be real. He must be dreaming. If he were not, there would be Father Andreas yelling at him, beating him. _No_ , Benjamin decides in his dream, _I am dreaming and I will dream on. Just for a little while …_

For it feels so good down there. His flesh is getting hard, and the friction – to rub himself against skin – it is delicious. He tightens his embrace and pushes with a knee. Thighs yield, invite him closer to a body that starts to match his rhythm, meets him. Benjamin moans, adds pace and pressure up to the point when all he can do is clutch his lover tight. He comes, shuddering and gasping.

Heaven.

He moans, sated and lazy. “God …”

There’s a chuckle. He both hears it and feels it under his hand. Which is a little odd because that would mean there is actually a body in his hands, and this can’t be because he’s dreaming and …

That was the moment when Benjamin woke up and realized that he had just ejaculated against Captain von Innow’s thighs.

With a start, he tried to back away, but his right arm was trapped under the heretic, and said heretic just turned on it. Facing Benjamin with a lazy smirk, von Innow rumbled, “Now, that’s a way to be woken!”

“I didn’t mean to! I was asleep!” Benjamin scrambled for the edge of the bed, but he was caught.

Von Innow trapped him by holding Benjamin’s arms and hooking a foot behind Benjamin’s knees. “No such face, little one! It’s just nature. Just what happens once the damned morals are asleep.”

 _That’s what happens when the devil catches you out unaware!_ Benjamin wanted to retort. Unfortunately, the captain had a point: his nature, his flesh was weak. He hadn’t been watchful, and the devil hadn’t passed up his opportunity.

Benjamin groaned, disgusted with himself. Again, his animal nature had won. It had reduced him to a rutting beast. He even stank like one, and his limbs felt heavy: as exhausted as if he had worked hard all night long.

Mortified, he stared at the captain, who grinned at him. Benjamin expected him to gloat, but von Innow managed to look pleased in a civil manner. He stroked Benjamin’s cheek, at first with the back of his index finger, then adding the others.

“I’m sorry,” Benjamin rasped.

“Sorry?”

A big hand cupped the nape of his neck.

Benjamin froze.

‘Now you’re in for it!’ his devil crowed.

Von Innow leant in and kissed him on the nose. “Ah, church boys …”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Benjamin felt his hackles rise.

But instead of any explanation von Innow kissed him again – right on the mouth. Benjamin gasped for air. That turned out to be a bad idea. Something slipped between his lips. Hard but mobile, it probed the corner of his mouth, pressed itself between his upper lip and his teeth. Benjamin moaned indignantly. One mustn’t kiss that way! His softening penis twitched with new-found desire.

_Damn it …_

No wonder that there were homilies against the use of the tongue while kissing! Preferably held before the fair days. Expressively addressing the daughters of Eve and the fact that one mustn’t stick one’s tongue into one’s lover’s mouth. The preachers said it was disgusting. Benjamin just found out that it was – for whatever sick reason – rather arousing.

Von Innow chose that moment to suck at his upper lip with enthusiasm. He crawled half on top of Benjamin. Suddenly there was some hot and hard flesh pressing against his crotch.

 _Stop!_ In sudden panic, Benjamin wrestled against the captain. That made the man groan with lust. Von Innow let go of Benjamin’s lip, hissed “yes” and “love”, and ground their hips together. A big hand ran down Benjamin’s side, pulled and pushed up the fabric of his shirt. It had already ridden up over his hips, but now von Innow pressed it up to Benjamin’s chest.

“Come on, off with it!” von Innow whispered in his ear. He was using that husky voice again.

Benjamin felt like shouting out loud in desperation. _Off with it and get fucked …_

“Please, Benjamin!”

“But you won’t fuck me like the redcoats did!”

“No, of course not.” Von Innow’s hand stilled. “Look at me, Benjamin,” he ordered, and his voice sounded almost normal again.

Benjamin hadn’t realized how desperately he had squeezed his eyes shut. He risked a glance. The captain’s face hovered close above his. Von Innow looked a little strange: he was flushed, and his lips shone way too red. But he frowned in concern.

“It will be enjoyable,” the sinner soothed. “For both of us.”

Benjamin nodded without feeling convinced. But he had started the mess, hadn’t he? Now it was the captain’s turn to satisfy his animalistic urge, and then they would wash, dress, leave this room and search his brethren. Who would see right through him. And punish him accordingly. He moaned in despair.

“It’s all right,” von Innow whispered in his ear. “I’ll be good, I promise.” Being good obviously meant nibbling at Benjamin’s ear and kissing his neck down to his collarbone.

Benjamin groaned. The Lord knew why …

 _No_ , he reprimanded himself, _the Lord certainly does not know! Or He is testing me … and I’m failing. This bastard is lapping me like a dog, and I’m getting hard from it!_

The memory of what else von Innow could do with his mouth didn’t help his resolve either.

_Heavens, can’t I once sin and be forgiven like every other sinner?_

The captain shoved his hand under Benjamin’s shirt, right at his chest, found and rubbed a nipple. Benjamin huffed. He was no girl, so what the heck …

The next moment, von Innow pinched the little thing, and Benjamin almost squeaked.

“Like that?”

“Oh, damn you!” Benjamin ground out. “Have your way already!”

Von Innow chuckled, delighted – in quite a smug way. Benjamin wanted to cuff him around the ears for that, but he didn’t. He didn’t fight either when von Innow knelt up, tugging at his shirt. On the contrary, Benjamin sat up to help, allowed the sinner to strip him naked. However, he covered his groin immediately with a blanket.

Von Innow gazed at him as if there was nothing more admirable in the whole wide world than a naked Benjamin Kenneberg.

It galled Benjamin to see the heretic stare at him in such a besotted way. It was simply not decent! “Yours too!” he demanded in a stern voice and pointed at the captain’s shirt.

“You’re certain?”

“I’ve already had you on me all naked, remember?” Benjamin snapped. Being angry helped to hold the last scraps of his dignity together. Blushing with anger wasn’t as undignified as blushing with shame, was it?

“Very well.” Von Innow took off his shirt himself. Benjamin stared. He knew he should not, but he couldn’t avert his eyes, while the captain pulled the fabric over his head. Naked thighs, their skin and hair tainted with the white streaks that accused Benjamin. An erect penis, red and wet at the tip, pointing at him in obscene intent. Aghast, Benjamin couldn’t stop staring at that thing. His guts cramped and he swallowed hard. _No, he promised, he’ll be good …_

What distracted him, however, was the bruise on the captain’s stomach. Benjamin noticed it when von Innow turned and flung the fabric over the headboard. From the yellow in the middle to the purple at the edges of a hand span’s width, that bruise showed all colours a bad hit could deliver.

“What on earth …” Without thinking, Benjamin extended at hand, but flinched before touching.

“That’s where the musket bullet went through the cuirass,” von Innow said. His smile was troubled. “The other one is here.” He turned to present another colourful but smaller bruise on his right side.

Benjamin felt suddenly sober in an unpleasant way. In his mind’s eye he saw the men on the battlefield, writhing in pain, both hands pressed on a gut shot. He remembered the screams and whimpers and shuddered at the memory.

“Yes, looks ugly, but thank God they got stuck.” For once von Innow sounded sincere when mentioning the Lord.

“I’m glad they did,” Benjamin agreed, wondering the very next moment why he said something nice to a man who was about to ravish him.

“Thanks.” Von Innow looked both pleased and surprised.

“Yes, well,” Benjamin couldn’t hold his gaze. Staring at the captain’s lap was no option either. At least the memory of the battle had lessened the sinner’s arousal a good deal.

But it was obviously not enough to deter him completely. When Benjamin turned his face away and crawled deeper into the blankets, von Innow followed him. It was weird to lie together naked like peasants, feeling another man’s skin against his own.

Von Innow put his right hand over Benjamin’s which clutched the blankets. Blunt fingers closed over his own, and a broad thumb rubbed the back of his hand. With effort, Benjamin let go of the blanket and allowed von Innow to pull his hand up and to kiss its palm.

The scratch of moustache and beard and the soft pressure of lips made Benjamin curl his fingers, touching von Innow’s cheek at that. It felt spiky under his fingertips. Benjamin was careful not to go near the broken suture, and von Innow rumbled and nuzzled into his palm like a giant cat. He even licked it.

Perplexed, Benjamin looked the captain in the face. That was not what he expected sodomy to be like. But the sinner seemed to enjoy it. His eyes closed, he continued to wet Benjamin’s palm. His cheek quirked up and the skin at the corner of his eyes crinkled when Benjamin carefully ran his thumb over von Innow’s cheek bone. There the skin was smoother, felt delicate even over the bone below. Curious, Benjamin explored the side of that badly healed nose too. He remembered the captain’s tale from last night: How a much younger von Innow got his nose smashed as punishment for a love he considered blessed.

‘Let that be a lesson to you,’ he heard his devil say, but in his mind he snarled at the devil to shut up.

Benjamin wondered about his own sanity. The captain was ugly, there was no way to put it mildly, and yet he wanted to kiss that misshapen face.

‘That’s what sin does to people,’ his devil lectured. ‘It makes the ugliest things desirable, leads you to believe that muck is gold.’ Or had it been Father Andreas preaching?

 _Doesn’t matter_ , Benjamin decided. He knew the Lord would hate him, but he wanted von Innow right now: with his plump nose, the wound on the jaw line and his bruises. Even with that lewd erection. He wanted to kiss his heretic and get away with it like all the other sinners did: revel in his occasion to sin and crawl sanctimoniously to their priest later.

For this one was his very own heretic, and they had to part ways later, and he didn’t want von Innow to ride away sad. He leant in and firmly kissed the captain’s cheek.

Von Innow opened his eyes, looking surprised. A funny thing had happened to his eyes, Benjamin observed: they shone nearly black, so wide had the pupils become. Von Innow blinked at him when Benjamin crawled closer.

This time their lips met, the captain made sure of that. And this time, Benjamin didn’t feel shocked when he felt von Innow lick over his lips. It felt nice, actually. Warmth coiled in his belly, and he had to smile: as if he didn’t know what arousal felt like.

“Lie with me?” Von Innow’s lips barely left his, and his question was a whisper.

Benjamin considered it answer enough to kiss right back. He even mimicked the captain’s way to stroke his tongue between his bedfellow’s lips. Then he settled back into the blankets, smiling at the puzzled heretic above him.

For a moment he expected von Innow to ask what had provoked that change of mind. But luckily the captain didn’t. His baffled stare gave way to a smile, and Benjamin thought that all the laugh lines made von Innow look anything but ugly. He wasn’t afraid when von Innow cuddled up to him, not even really disgusted at feeling the man’s erection wet at his hip. He wondered himself what had got into him.

Some other devil perhaps, a much more powerful one than the one he was used to. But like in his dream before, Benjamin decided that he wanted to go on, that he wanted to kiss back. That he even wanted to open his mouth to the captain’s teasing tongue. It felt surprisingly good to have his own tongue licked, and it was even better to have it sucked when he dared follow the teasing flesh into von Innow’s mouth. It made him giddy, and another body part clearly longed for a good suck too. It was already hard again.

 _So good …_ Benjamin moaned in protest when von Innow withdrew.

“Please…” Von Innow took his hand again. But now he didn’t kiss it, but made it run along his side. Down. “Would you?”

Benjamin nodded. Of course he was not meant just to stroke the captain’s waist. Yet he did, carefully avoiding the bruised part. There the skin was only slightly warm. But smooth. Benjamin wondered how such a rough fellow like the captain could feel so flawless to the touch.

‘What did you expect him to feel like?’ his devil sneered. ‘Like a boar’s coat all over?’

Benjamin couldn’t say. After all, he had never before touched a person like this. He had washed people in the hospital, all right; there he had always tried to keep the contact as swift as possible. The men on the battlefield he had touched with more resolve. But there he had fought to fix bandages, to press pulsing veins shut.

But touching someone for pleasure? Never. Himself, for his own filthy delight, of course, he couldn’t deny that. He knew quite well how his cock felt in his hand. Feeling another person’s skin under his fingers, however, was new. It felt strange and yet exciting.

The captain hummed, nibbled at his neck and breathed “yes” and “please”. His big hand over Benjamin’s made certain that the “please” was directed down, over his hip and crotch. There he was covered with coarse hair, and suddenly Benjamin’s fingers touched a much hotter part of skin.

Von Innow shivered, moaning when Benjamin closed his fingers around that offered piece of flesh. Benjamin bit his lower lip in concentration. This was awkward. Mortifying even. He felt his cheeks grow burning hot. And yet, all the captain wanted was to be stroked down there.

‘As if you didn’t know how to do that, hypocrite!’ his devil sneered.

It was awkward nevertheless, and he had no idea how his touch felt for the other man.

Obviously it felt good. Von Innow groaned and gasped against his neck. His hand tightened over Benjamin’s then, taught him about speed and pressure. When von Innow let go, whispers like “good” and “yes, love” encouraged Benjamin to go on. He couldn’t help but grin. Embarrassing as it was, it excited him as well, and he huddled closer against the heretic and ground his own cock against the other man’s hip, enjoying the rocking motion of von Innow’s hips.

Emboldened, he even dared to touch the very wet tip of his bedfellow’s erection, rub the pad of his thumb over it. The heretic arched into his touch, moaning aloud.

 _Yes, that’s what you want, but what about this?_ Remembering how von Innow had stroked him when he had tied him down back then in his tent, Benjamin let his hand slide down until he could cup the other man’s balls in his hand. He squeezed them, carefully, but enough to make the sinner hiss and jerk.

“I think now I understand what’s behind the saying ‘to have a man in one’s hand’,” he whispered with a chuckle.

“To have him by the balls, that’s the term,” von Innow answered, rather breathless. “I trust you to be merciful.”

“Very,” Benjamin promised and let his fingers slide up, squeezing the cock in his hand right as the captain had shown him.

The resulting “Yes!” and the hard thrusts in his hand were proof enough that he was doing a very fine job for being new to mutual sinning. Von Innow’s hand nudged his own while groping between them, and suddenly it found Benjamin’s penis.

Benjamin gasped in delight, and whatever ability to muse he still had at his disposal a moment ago, now it flew out of the window, carried away like a poor soul.

With his free hand, he clutched the captain. He even tried to roll on top of him, never stopping stroking him. Pleasure rushed through him – yes, having his cock stroked was so much better than doing it alone – and he wanted to return his joy. Von Innow froze for a moment, gasped out loud, and Benjamin felt hot liquid spill over his hand.

This time, it didn’t disgust him. Everything turned bright with lust. Oh yes, he had the captain ‘by the balls’: the man in his hand, helplessly writhing under him, and moaning in delight.

Benjamin rolled over his captain, nudged his legs apart and thrust against the man’s belly. Von Innow’s moans became almost pained by now, and then he sagged back, winded, all the tension leaving him.

“Want you!” Benjamin insisted, touching the captain’s cheek with the same hand that had touched his penis a moment ago. It was wet and glistening with semen. He stroked the thumb over von Innow’s parted lips, shoved it between them. His thumb got sucked in to the root. Benjamin whimpered with need. Von Innow let go of his thumb, sucked his fingers clean.

“Please!” Benjamin whined. He should ask, one should always ask nicely, but he was about to come from that alone … and so he did before he could order the captain to go down there where he belonged.

He was caught and held, and von Innow rubbed up and down his back, murmuring things like “beautiful” and “my own”, and kissed his temple and the crown of his head. When he regained sanity, Benjamin knew it was not fair to allow von Innow such illusions, but he was too tired to say a word or even try.

He pressed his cheek against the captain’s chest. Now they were both slick with sweat and stank like beasts. Benjamin didn’t mind. He drifted off. Morals could wait. Hell could wait.

It _would_ wait for him; he had no illusion about that. But in this moment – in the first light of the morning in a draughty, tiny room somewhere in hostile territory – he was determined to hold his heretic tight, to enjoy the feeling of being utterly sated and filthy, and to dream some more. Just for a little while.

# Chapter 34

“Don’t …”

Snuggled up to von Innow, Benjamin enjoyed dozing, his head resting on the captain’s chest. All he wanted was to sleep on like that. But he was about to be woken again by kisses to the crown of his head and by caresses offered with a hand that was rough, but acted gently.

 _Don’t wake me._ If he were to actually wake he would have to end this blissful state because it was sin. He wanted that sated, sleepy feeling to last. He felt von Innow’s chest rise and fall with his breathing, felt the heartbeat under his palm. It was soothing to breathe in the same slow rhythm as his captain, and he enjoyed the shared body heat.

Admittedly, they stank of sin, but being held and stroked was … heaven?

Somewhere in the back of his mind the devil was nagging, and furiously at that, about the fact that it was certainly not heaven, but just an illusion, that it would lead to dire penance. Benjamin chose to ignore the devil. All he wanted was to lie with his heretic for a little longer. They would part ways early enough today, and Benjamin knew that he would miss him, and badly at that. Von Innow was annoying in so many ways and the worst sort of heretic sinner he could imagine, a heathen even, but he wished him good luck wherever he would go. Happiness even, and his estate he loved so much.

And yet so many things could go wrong. The scar on von Innow’s chest proved it: someone had tried to gut the man with a single strike of a sword or dagger.

Curious, he ran a finger over the pale line, but too lazy to ask how von Innow got it. Asking, talking would force him to wake up to a state in which he couldn’t ignore the wrongness of their situation anymore.

His fingers ended up next to a nipple, and he explored the tiny nub too. It hardened under his touch, and he felt the captain stir and heard him growl in contentment. Oddly enough, that growl was arousing, and Benjamin ground his hips against the captain’s.

Then, like the voice of God, cannons roared.

With a shout, von Innow sat up, Benjamin completely forgotten. After a few hard gasps, his mien changed from shell-shocked to seriously annoyed.

“God damn the Saxons!” he barked. “I’m getting too old for this crap!”

He dropped back onto the bed and frowned at the window and the strip of pale light visible through the shutters. Muttering “Lord, send thunder and lightning on these asses!” he huddled back into the blankets – disgruntled like some lord of the manor whose cockerel was up and about unexpectedly early.

“But…” Wide awake, Benjamin pointed at the tiny window. _Who are they shooting at? Is Wallenstein back? What do you think will happen if a cannon ball hits this roof?_

“No need to worry.” Von Innow seemed to be able to tell the questions from Benjamin’s face. “Yesterday, that colonel said they’re still smoking out the garrison Wallenstein has left on the Pleißenburg.”

So General Wallenstein had left troops within the city? Not just the wounded? In his mind’s eye Benjamin saw himself hurrying to a castle instead of searching makeshift hospitals at the churches. And wasn’t the captain concerned that the Imperial garrison might own some cannons too and shoot right back?

Obviously ballistics and the damage it might do were not on the captain’s mind right now. His gaze was aimed at Benjamin, as was his hand that reached out for Benjamin’s face.

A big hand cupped Benjamin’s cheek, and von Innow said in that suspicious husky voice of his, “Come on, let the war take care of itself.”

 _As if it was that easy!_ Benjamin frowned at von Innow. Another salvo broke to remind him that it was due to all their sins that the Lord punished mankind with this ongoing war. A war that should have ended with a victory of the just, the Catholic cause long ago.

‘Yes, yes, if it weren’t for the many sinners in their own ranks,’ the devil sneered.

Benjamin flinched when von Innow kissed him. It was just a peck on the lips, but it would lead to more sinning, no doubt.

“Please, don’t.” He sat up, ran the back of his hand over his lips and rubbed his eyes then. His unspeakable sin was one of the reasons why the Lord still saw it fit to refuse the Catholic arms their victory. It had been an awful mistake to give in into his body’s cravings. That was as clear as the bright day he was facing now.

He also faced a frowning Captain von Innow. “Come on! There’s no reason to play coy now!”

“Coy? We committed a sin that cries to heaven!”

“Aw, Benjamin, really …”

“I shouldn’t have done this!” Benjamin pushed back the blankets and got up. He had known it all along – even when the devil had fogged his sense with lust. But now that he realised his dreadful misjudgement he could not go on. It was a shame that von Innow didn’t see at all how wrong he was!

“Didn’t you enjoy it, hmm?” the heretic just cooed, trying puppy-dog eyes and holding out a hand.

Benjamin clenched his fists in sudden fury. “Our Lord Jesus Christ didn’t suffer on the cross for our sins so that you can go on and offend Him with that unspeakable crime of yours!”

Von Innow’s hand dropped, and the sinner stared at him – for a moment in shock, but too soon in outrage.

“You really make me sick, Saint Benjamin!”

“Fine!” Benjamin hissed and snatched his shirt from the bed. He was about to put it on when he realised the evidence of their lust on his skin. Disgusted, he rubbed at his belly with a blanket and hurried to cover himself. “I’ll get us water to wash, and then we’ll seek out my brethren! You've had your night, now be true to your word!”

When he got no answer he cast a glare at the heretic. He met von Innow’s disappointed gaze.

_What did he expect, after all? That I change my mind and join him, just because I lost my common sense for a while?_

Benjamin couldn’t hold von Innow’s gaze. The heretic should look contrite! But all he obviously did was wallow in self-pity that his next opportunity to sin had passed.

Benjamin put on his trousers, stomped into his shoes, forgoing hose and garters in his haste to leave the room.

He kicked at the cuirass parts to clear the door and fled downstairs.

 

***

 

Locking himself up in a privy was no option, it stank too much. Benjamin chose the stable. He had to hide somewhere to pray and to come to his senses.

The stable hands scowled at him, certainly thinking he was sent to check on their work and the portions of fodder the horses were given. Actually, this proved to be a good idea: otherwise Liese and his mangy nameless mount would have gone hungry.

Benjamin frowned at the handful of reeds ‘his’ horses were given while the charger in the stall next to them got a full heap. “This way you won’t earn a tip from the captain but a beating!” he told the stable hand.

“What captain?” the man sneered at him, looking pointedly at his naked calves. _Starving wretch_ , said his look. _Peasant,_ even.

“Captain von Innow of the Swedish army who happens to have poor mounts at the moment, but who will certainly have no sympathy for servants who withhold fodder that’s part of the inn’s fare!” Benjamin snapped.

Cursing under his breath, the man brought more fodder.

He glared at Benjamin and Benjamin glared back, wondering what had gotten into him to act as von Innow’s horse boy.

After all, he was here to pray and ask the Lord’s forgiveness. As soon as the servant turned his back to him, he crossed himself, wanted to pray, but his devil hissed at him: ‘Now that’s the right one! Whines to be forgiven and still stinks of sin! Thus you want to protest to the Lord that you’re contrite? You’re disgusting, that’s what you are! Get yourself clean first!’

Benjamin groaned in defeat, resting his forehead against a wooden pillar of the stalls.

_I am disgusting. Lord, I didn’t mean to sin, it just happened, and I got carried away. I’ll do penance, I’ll accept the discipline humbly, I didn’t mean to offend you. It’s just … I mean, of course I’m grateful that you spared me that lusting for girls which torments my brethren, but why do you try my faith in this way? And why couldn’t you make yourself more clear to this damned, insolent heretic, but sent him sunshine instead of lightning?_

Benjamin flinched at the next salvo fired at the Pleißenburg. The artillery’s furious thunder had to be answer enough.

In misery he watched the horses dig in. If he left, the stable boy would certainly steal the fodder. But all he could think about was the captain’s sad mien and the lust they had shared earlier. “Come on, hurry,” he told the horses when the longing threatened to take over. “I’ll have to get some water to wash, and breakfast too!”

 

***

 

When he returned into their room, carrying a dish and within it a jar of water, von Innow was already dressed. He sat on the bed with his back to Benjamin, fiddling with something. When he turned, Benjamin spotted the pistol in von Innow’s hand.

Aghast, Benjamin stared at the weapon.

“I didn’t mean to run!” he called out. “I was at the stables, checked that the horses were fed properly! And then it took some time to negotiate some hot water from the ladies who run the kitchen!”

He held up the jar as proof. It was steaming in the cold of their room.

“Hm.” Von Innow  screwed a ball puller into the barrel.

Benjamin put down the washing dish and the hot water. As it looked, the captain was not about to shoot him any time soon. Von Innow removed the bullet and emptied the powder onto a sliver of paper. Then he used a worm tool to clean the barrel thoroughly.

After that he seemed to notice that Benjamin was still staring at him, and fidgeting.

“I didn’t mean to stay away so long,” Benjamin assured. “But at the stables they tried to withhold the fodder, and …”

“I’m not going to shoot you,” von Innow said and poked a needle into the ignition hole. “After all, you’re worth four thalers …”

His indifferent tone was an insult in itself. Benjamin frowned sourly. But another thing worried him. “I trust you won’t shoot my brethren either.”

Von Innow sighed, sounding really annoyed. “Benjamin, after not using one’s pistols for a week and then a day’s ride in rain and a stay in a dank room it’s _highly_ recommended to reload your guns because you should never, ever trust the powder to stay dry! If you didn’t learn anything else from me, try to remember at least that in the future! It might make the difference between going right to hell and wandering this vale of tears for a little while longer. And now wash up before the water gets cold.”

Shooting a sour glare at the captain Benjamin obeyed. As if he needed to be told that! Pouring some water in the dish he wondered if von Innow would return to his lecherous jibes as soon as he would undress. But when he did undress, the captain turned his back on him.

 _Fine!_ Benjamin thought, _mope along! In a few hours you’ll be rid of me! And I’ll be in decent company._

The outlook of seeing Father Michael was encouraging, but when he thought of Bruckmann, his stomach clenched. If the Lord had mercy, Bruckmann would be dead and gone and dumped into the trenches of Lützen, but as they said, bad weeds grow tall. The mere thought of spending the next weeks with the nemesis of his school-days made Benjamin feel sick.

He tried to concentrate on washing and not thinking. He cleaned his hands, scooped up water to rinse his face. To clean his belly, he took a different blanket than the one he had used before.

 _How could I!_ he chided himself, rubbing at his belly. The disgusting matter, now dried, stuck to the hair down there.

The devil in his head snickered. ‘As if you didn’t like how it got there, hypocrite!’

Certainly it was the devil who revelled in the memory so hard that his penis twitched again. Benjamin snarled at himself. _Stop it! At once! It was a mistake! It just happened. Yes, I’m a sinner like everybody else – even worse than almost everybody else – but it mustn’t happen again, and it won’t!_

The devil just laughed.

 _It won’t!_ Benjamin cast a glance at von Innow. The only way to stay chaste was to part ways with the heretic. He hated the thought of it, but it had to happen, and soon.

Von Innow rose, and Benjamin almost jumped. The captain carried the pistols and his toolkit back to the saddle. He kept his gaze on the floor, turned to the window then. He opened the shutter and gazed outside.

Benjamin hurried to dry himself and to dress, properly with hose and garters this time.

Buttoning his jacket, he said, “There’s plenty of water left.”

Von Innow turned, an eyebrow cocked. Benjamin braced himself for a jibe, something along the lines of ‘washing away one’s sins’, but von Innow didn’t say anything. When he joined him at the washing basin, Benjamin took the jar and poured water over his hands like a good servant would. He had done this often enough for Father Andreas, though he didn’t know why he was doing it for the captain. Anyway, he could always turn away as soon as the man undressed. But von Innow didn’t. He just washed his hands and face, dried himself with the blanket too.

 _Now, is he just a swine or is it his way of keeping ‘memories’?_ Benjamin curled his lips in disgust.

Von Innow started to pack all the blankets, the wet one on top of the roll. He strapped the pack behind his saddle, retrieved the flask with the schnapps and dabbed the wound on his jaw line with the burning liquid, cursing through the pain. Then he emptied the bottle by drinking the rest.

“Help me with the cuirass?”

That sounded more like a plea than like an order. Benjamin nodded. It was ridiculous even. What was a cuirassier good for if he had no servant to strap him into all that iron? Certainly the captain’s first deed after the negotiations should be to find himself a servant; otherwise he’d have a rather uncomfortable night ahead of him. The gorget had to be fixed on the back, and while von Innow could have buckled breastplate to back plate himself if he really wanted, he definitely needed help to fix the arm and leg protection at the back.

When Benjamin was fiddling with the last buckle that happened to be bent, von Innow suddenly asked, “What do we do in case your folks have left for good?”

Good question! “I … well, look out for some friars and ask them for help.” Benjamin tried hard to sound more confident than he felt about that solution. Too many monks despised the Jesuits.

“Hm.” Von Innow didn’t seem to like the idea at all.

_Yes, I know, you wouldn’t give a damn about the money if I just stayed as your partner in crime. But this must not happen!_

Benjamin stepped back as soon as the buckle was fixed.

The captain fastened his belt with sword and dagger. Putting on his hat, he turned to Benjamin and looked him in the eye.

Certainly there was a goodbye in order now, but Benjamin didn’t know what to say. Von Innow stared at him, looking worried and hopeful at the same time. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but continued to stare.

Benjamin frowned. “Can we go now?” he asked to break the tension he suddenly felt. He sounded too impatient to his own ears.

Von Innow sighed and nodded. He turned away, retrieved his tack from the floor and left the room without looking at Benjamin.

 

***

 

Breakfast was a similarly sad affair. Some of the low mood was owed to the fact that all they got was the diluted barley soup from last night. But that was not the true reason why Benjamin had no appetite.

He should say something. Something reasonable and something grateful. His head was full of half-formed sentences, and all of them felt wrong.

He liked the captain in a way he should definitely not. For the sake of his soul he had to leave. And whatever he might say, von Innow would never understand.

He had explained during their ride that he had to report back to his ‘army’. To von Innow that had been a bad joke.

Should he explain the captain that there was no safer way of living these days than as a member of an order? The Jesuits had residences all over the known world, from the New one to Nippon, and even if one or another was attacked by heathens or heretics, the order provided a haven that was much safer than a family that couldn’t feed you. Or one that knew of your crime and despised you – as in the captain’s case.

He looked at von Innow, who stirred his soup, staring at it as if he was expected to eat his most favourite horse in vinegar. Their eyes met.

“Please,” Benjamin ground out, almost a whisper. “I can not stay.”

Von Innow nodded, hanging his head. “Pity.”

He started to eat. It was obvious that he felt the same way about his food as Benjamin: forcing down any sustenance for he knew it was a trying day ahead, but had no idea when the next meal might take place.

An hour later, the room was paid (after some haggling) and they rode from the yard (after some more haggling with the stable hands about tips they didn’t deserve).

There was still cannon fire and a good part of the city vanished under grey smoke. Church bells started to toll, but without the haste of alarm, and Benjamin wondered if it was Sunday. He crossed himself, trying to keep the gesture inconspicuous.

_Lord, help me to find my brethren, and please keep them from causing the captain trouble. After all, he saved my life, took me here. He’s a sinner, I don’t deny that, but he helped me most of the time to return here. Please let all turn out smoothly; what are four thalers to the order anyway? Just return me to my brethren, and I will serve you humbly and sin no more._

# Chapter 35

“Pray tell, do all your fellow clerics behave like that?” Captain von Innow smirked, looking amused for the first time on their quest.

Benjamin, however, was not amused at all. Stupid monks! When he had greeted them everything had been fine, but the moment he revealed that he was searching for the _Societas Jesu_ , they started to cross themselves as if Old Nick had hailed them!

Within the city it had been a Franciscan; now at the St. Johannis hospital in the eastern suburb, the Dominicans’ reaction was the same. The smaller one even ran while the taller stood rooted to the spot, clutching a bucket of water.

“I don’t know anything about Jesuits!” the monk assured, wide-eyed as if they had threatened him with the gallows. Looking at the captain and putting a hand on his heart, he added, “We don’t house any of them, I swear!”

“I believe you,” Benjamin said with stressed patience. “Are there any other hospitals around where we can search? I’m one of their _scholastici_ , but had the misfortune to be taken prisoner, and the good captain here wants some thalers ransom for me, that’s all.”

“If this one is a Jesuit you'd better have him hanged!” This came from a group of frowning men in black who had gathered in front the St. Johanni church.

Benjamin wrinkled his nose. Judging from their local dialect and their hostile demeanour, these were the Protestant preachers and their ilk who squatted in the house of God.

“Give me thirty pieces of silver and you can hang him yourself,” von Innow snapped.

“Sir, this is blasphemy!” A pot-bellied man puffed himself up.

“I’d call it common sense in times of scarce money!” the captain sneered. “So, is there another bloody hospital in your rotten excuse for a town or is there none!”

“At the Ranstadt gate,” the monk piped up, pointing north. Then he hurried into the hospital building, followed by the glares of the enemy’s clergy.

“Let’s go then.” Von Innow turned his horse.

Benjamin didn’t know if he should be relieved or taken aback at the disregard the captain paid his own clergy. Was there anything the man held sacred?

When they had passed the church yard and its mass grave, von Innow stated, “You'd better not mention your ‘army’ anymore, but ask for your brethren’s names.”

Benjamin nodded.

 

***

 

They had to ride around half of the city. To Benjamin’s relief they headed away from the Pleißenburg. He could see its mighty tower now, situated in one corner of the town wall. Somehow the Imperials within the fortress had managed to haul cannons up the tower. Now they were shooting back at the Saxons who were busy damaging their own city fortification.

 _God, how stupid is that?_ Benjamin thought, but he refrained from any comment. Von Innow would certainly tell him that it was only half as annoying to destroy and rebuild one’s own fortress than to give Wallenstein an excuse to return early in spring and conquer the whole of the town and demand contributions from the citizens.

 

***

 

In the northern suburb, the hospital at St. Georg looked even worse than the one they had visited before. The streets up to the yard were covered in ankle deep muck and lined with makeshift tents and broken carts that served as huts for wounded and dying men. A few luckier ones sat around a cooking fire, but the pot seemed to contain not much more than water. Their bandages were dirty, some caked with blood. Even from his scant experience Benjamin knew the change was overdue. He didn’t dare imagine how it might look and smell inside the hospital itself. Soon the two riders were surrounded by women and children: “Please, Sir, just a few pennies for some bread!” Von Innow rode on, drawing his sword when some boys tried to grab the bag with his provisions. The most daring one got a blow with the flat of the blade that sent him into the mud. His comrades fell back, cursing the captain and his ‘servant’.

Beggars were annoying, but Benjamin hated the thought that many good men would die here from sheer hunger. Or get killed by the plague while starving to death. Now that their soldiers were seriously wounded, no officer would care for them anymore. Some clergymen would provide hospital service, and otherwise a poor sod could only hope that he had a faithful wife who could not only tend to wounds, but knew how to bag bread and chicken – or a handful of crops when all the bread and chicken were eaten long ago.

What would von Innow do, now that his old servant was dead? Benjamin wondered. He hated the thought that one day he might see his captain like that: half-dead and delirious with fever due to a shot or stab wound or some poorly done amputation.

_Lord, I beg you, let him return home to his cousin and stay there safe!_

In the yard, von Innow stopped his horse and waited for Benjamin to catch up. Frowning at the many dead bodies lying not yet buried on the graveyard, the captain said: “Seriously, Benjamin, let’s run while we can.”

Benjamin worried his lower lip. “I have to ask at least…”

But asking became unnecessary the very next moment. A tall man with white-blond hair stepped into the yard: Father Johannes Bruckmann. Unlike in Lützen, he wore a doublet and breeches now, no cassock, but Benjamin would recognize his arch-enemy even in disguise.

“Oh, Lord, why him of all people!” He nudged his horse to go.

Bruckmann had been on the way to the churchyard, but seeing two riders approach he stopped and frowned.

“Praise be to Jesus Christ!” Benjamin said, knowing quite well that his greeting lacked the enthusiasm he would have felt if he had spotted Father Michael. 

“For evermore!” Bruckmann glared at him. “What do you want?”

“Is Father Michael here?” Benjamin asked.

“Who wants to know that?” The priest crossed his arms in front of his chest.

 _What on earth? Doesn’t he recognize me?_ But Benjamin realized that Bruckmann was scrutinizing von Innow.

“That’s Captain von Innow of the Swedish army,” Benjamin introduced his own heretic. “Captain, meet Father Bruckmann.”

Both men gave each other a curt nod.

“Captain von Innow took me prisoner after the battle,” Benjamin continued when no-one seemed willing to exchange any pleasantries.

“There were no prisoners,” Bruckmann stated.

“What do you mean: no prisoners?” Benjamin remembered all too vividly how the major had dragged him across he battlefield and had threatened to kill him before the officer chose to give him to the captain – under the pretence of a present, but probably already pondering to accuse von Innow later of conspiring with Jesuits.

Bruckmann stared at him, screwing up his nose.

“If you want to suggest that I ran ...” Benjamin was so furious that his voice caught in his throat. He raised his fist at his former school-mate, priest or not. “Don’t you dare call me a coward! Where is Father Michael?”

“He’s dead!” Bruckmann snapped. “Two days ago he died a miserable death from a gut shot! All the time he was worrying for you, you useless shit! And now you have the cheek to turn up here, safe and sound and on horseback and …”

“Now cut this bickering and get down to business!” von Innow barked. “I don’t have all day!”

Bruckmann glared at him. “If you're hoping for ransom, forget about it!”

“What?”

“I said: forget it!” Bruckmann put his fists on his hips. “If he led you to believe that I would pay money for him, I’m really sorry, for I will not!”

“That’s not for you to decide!” Benjamin felt panic rise, drowning his outrage. “You’re supposed to help a member of the Societas!”

“You are no member yet, _scholasticus_. And if I have a say in that, you never will be!”

“So much for your Christian compassion.” Von Innow pointed his sword at Bruckmann. “Now run and get your superior here, _boy_ , or I’ll take you, too, and let’s see how much the Societas pays for _your_ sorry hide!”

This threat had the desired effect. Bruckmann huffed about the captain’s godless remark and the address as ‘boy’, but suddenly thought better of it and hurried back to the building.

“Who the devil is this idiot?” von Innow asked Benjamin, frowning at him as if Benjamin was responsible for Bruckmann’s behaviour. At least he sheathed his sword.

“A former school-mate,” Benjamin said, remembering the misery of these years too well. “He behaved in a hostile manner to almost everyone, and …” 

‘Well, well, bearing false witness, aren’t we?’ the devil asked, and Benjamin clenched his teeth. No, Bruckmann hadn’t been like this to almost everyone, but to Benjamin, and thus since Benjamin had given his friend Thomas away.

“Well, whatever. But I guess I get an idea about the poor monk’s terror.” With a grin, von Innow dismounted and adjusted the cinch. “And you, dear mistress Liese, want to get out of the habit of puffing yourself up like a toad if you want to become a decent riding horse!”

Benjamin checked his saddle. His horse had adopted that bad habit too. He was still fiddling with a cinch that was bound and not buckled, when he heard someone shout from the gate.

“There he is! The tall one!”

There was only one person of noticeable height around. Benjamin cast a glance at von Innow and saw the captain gape in disbelief across the yard.

“Hell and damnation!”

Benjamin turned.

“Lord Jesus Christ!”

As if it hadn’t been enough to meet Bruckmann! But now Major von Hassfurt rode into the yard, followed by the provost and the young Saxon lieutenant from last night. There were some more riders with them, wearing green sashes. So they belonged to the lieutenant.

“You!” the major roared, pointing at von Innow. “You goddamn sodomite Jesuit-lover had the audacity to tell this boy there were five hundred thalers on my head?”

 

***

 

The ‘boy’ was the Saxon lieutenant who scowled in a vain attempt at a regal glare. He cast quick glances from one Swedish officer to the other, indecisive as to whom to believe but wishing for five hundred thalers very badly.

“While they’re all busy staring at me, get on horseback and hold my horse at the ready,” von Innow told Benjamin under his breath. Then he strode to the middle of the yard.

“Of course I told the good lieutenant about the bounty!” he sneered at the top of his voice and put his hand on the hilt of his sword. “Even if I think that’s way too much money for a coward who ran from the battlefield, afraid of some lousy Imperials! You’re not worth tuppence and a rope actually!”

“Innow, you will tell him that’s a bare-faced lie!” Major von Hassfurt produced his sword.

“Why would I?” The very next moment von Innow had his sword drawn too. “Unfortunately the poor lieutenant won’t get his well-deserved money because _I’m_ going to kill you!”

 _Lord, no!_ Benjamin gripped the reins of their horses tight. If the captain hoped the lieutenant would arrest von Hassfurt now fearing to lose the reward, he was making a big mistake. The young man just gaped at the upcoming duel.

The major spurred his horse on and the grey stallion leapt into the yard. As a trained war horse the grey would run von Innow over, Benjamin had no doubt about it. Why on earth hadn’t von Innow mounted his own horse? He should have known that a bastard like the major would not care about equality of weapons!

The captain seemed to regret his choice as well, at least if his hasty retreat to their horses was anything to go by.

‘Now!’ Benjamin’s devil urged. ‘On horseback!’

But seeing a strange horse rushing at them, Benjamin’s bay jumped, pulling Benjamin with him in its attempt to run. Big Liese, however, chose not to move, so Benjamin hung awkwardly between two horses, cursing both beasts.

The captain stepped behind his big draught horse, and when the major reined his horse straight at them, Liese cast a glance at the advancing stallion, put her ears back, squeaked, and, in true mare manner, kicked the steed square in the chest.

Von Hassfurt’s much lighter horse slipped on the muddy pavement and fell on his butt. The Saxon cavalry men shouted with laughter. “Ten guilders on the mare!”

For the captain it was the opportunity to counterattack. The major, obviously not a bad fighter, deflected two blows though he was struggling to get out of the saddle in case his horse might fall on its side.

But right as the grey stallion got his footing again and jumped up with his rear legs, von Innow managed to duck under the major’s stab and pulled von Hassfurt from the saddle.

The horse, however, panicked, bumped into the men and ran both over. Benjamin heard von Innow shout out.

The horse fled back to the gate of the yard while the Saxons scrambled madly to stop it.

Now Benjamin had full sight of the two officers. Von Innow got to his feet, groping for his sword and pulling his dagger out with the left.

Von Hassfurt, who was in a buffcoat and not hampered by the weight of a cuirass, jumped up as well. He was bleeding from his mouth, bad enough for having lost a tooth. But when von Innow was ready to attack, the major had picked up his rapier as well. Not wasting a second, the two duellists started to slash and stab at each other, cheered on by the Saxons.

“Ten guilders on the tall one!”

“Twelve on the short one!”

The captain landed a blow that made von Hassfurt stumble, and Benjamin shouted “Yeah!”, spooking his horse again.

The only one who did not look eager to see a man pierced through by an arm-long blade of steel was the young lieutenant: probably fearing for his five hundred thalers or remembering that duels were forbidden and he – as the only Saxon officer present – was in charge of enforcing the law.

Everyone else was taking sides and shouting encouragement – not only the Saxon soldiers, but in every window of the hospital people gathered. The gravediggers watched, too, leaning onto their shovels, and every gap between the Saxon cavalry men was filled up with curious train boys and women.

Within the yard, von Innow was just launching into a counterattack. Benjamin prided himself on knowing that this move was a _riposte_. Sadly, the major managed to parry the stab with his dagger. Von Innow jumped back to save his blade before it was broken between the dagger’s blade and the curved hilt, and just in time to stay clear of von Hassfurt’s rapier aimed at his face.

With the next blow, von Innow landed a lucky hit, but the major’s buffcoat was of best quality – perhaps even elk – and the sword tip did not pierce through. The blade bent, von Hassfurt stumbled back, parried and attacked again. Benjamin started to worry for his heretic. Weighted down by his cuirass, von Innow would tire first.

He jumped when a hand closed hard around his arm, spinning him around.

“Hurry, they won’t notice!”

Bruckmann had returned, together with the Spaniard.

“What?” Benjamin gaped at them. What did these two want of him?

“We'll hide you, now come!” the Spanish priest urged.

“Wait!” Benjamin cast a glance at the battle.

“Damn! Let the heretics take care of themselves!” Bruckmann hissed.

“I can’t.” Benjamin couldn’t tear his gaze from the fight. Now the captain had locked blades with von Hassfurt. Von Innow leant in with all his weight.

“See, I told you he’s not worth it,” said Bruckmann’s voice, in Latin, so he was addressing the Spaniard.

Von Hassfurt jumped back, abandoning his rapier. Von Innow, surprised by the move, stumbled forward. Evading, von Hassfurt dodged him, and the captain fell headlong into the mud. Turning and lashing out with the sword, he hit the major in the thigh. Von Hassfurt shouted, his knees gave out, and the next moment he joined his enemy on the pavement.

They didn’t resume duelling like noblemen, but rolled in the mud, fighting with fists and a dagger like peasants in a pub. With a swift roll, the major was suddenly on top of the two, and the dagger was in his fist. 

It came down twice, stabbing at von Innow’s neck at first, aiming for the unprotected armpit then, while von Innow was protecting his throat. But then the captain landed a blow, smashing the iron gaunlet right against von Hassfurt’s jaw.

The major went limp, and von Innow shoved him off, wrestling the dagger from his grip.

“Hurry!” the Spaniard urged. “They’ll be finished any moment now!”

‘You have to go now! Or they’ll think you’d rather be with von Innow,’ Benjamin’s devil urged, interrupted by a slap in Benjamin’s face.

Bare fury was behind this slap, and Benjamin staggered back against Liese’s shoulder, yelping with surprise and sudden pain. His cheek stung from the beat and he had hit his head against the butt of von Innow’s pistol.

Bruckmann raised his hand again, this time as a fist. “You owe obedience to us, you shit, not to a Swede!”

From the corner of his eye, Benjamin saw a rider rush into the yard. He was shouting, “Stop it!”

Bruckmann grabbed Benjamin by the front of his jacket. “Will you come now! We are risking our lives …”

 _The provost!_ Benjamin realized who the rider was. Disregarding all rules of duels, the provost rushed to the major’s aid, cocking a pistol at von Innow.

“Leave me!” Benjamin shouted, punching Bruckmann in the face. The priest stumbled and fell, almost toppling over. Not caring for him, Benjamin pulled the pistol from the holster right next to him.

There was loud cursing and shouting in the yard, the Saxons hooting at the provost who dared interfere. Benjamin saw the flash of ignition when the powder on the pistol’s pan burned. But the shot didn’t break. Hastily the provost grabbed the other pistol.

“Are you mad!” the Spaniard roared behind him.

Benjamin didn’t look at him, busy with cocking the dog of his own pistol. That bastard of a provost would not shoot his captain!

Taking aim and pulling the trigger was one swift move as if he had exercised it again and again like a seasoned cavalry man. The shot broke at once, thanks to the captain’s care of his weapons. Through the white smoke Benjamin saw the provost sway in the saddle, slump, and fall.

Benjamin gaped. He hat hit! And at least at thirty steps distance, perhaps even forty! The provost didn’t move a limb. Von Innow knelt above the major, dagger in hand, but stared at Benjamin, also gaping.

It took the captain a moment to rein in his surprise, then he stood up, but with difficulty. He was visibly in pain. There was blood on his hands, Benjamin noticed. Much blood. Darkening his gloves, and dripping down from the dagger he still held in his hand.

Major von Hassfurt lay still on the ground, and under his neck the mud had turned red.

Von Innow limped to Liese, visibly relieved when he could lean on the horse’s hindquarters for support. He was breathing heavily, almost wheezing.

Looking Benjamin in the eye, he asked, “Now, soldier, was that a lucky shot or do they teach you that at school?”

Benjamin gave a laugh in surprise, feeling his heart race and his hands tremble. “You’re all right?”

“No. But not dying either.” Von Innow became aware of the bloodstained weapon he was still clutching and pushed it into his belt. He gave Benjamin a lop-sided grin. “Thank you.” It sounded heartfelt.

“Thank the Lord,” Benjamin murmured, feeling suddenly embarrassed. He had saved von Innow’s life! The captain was indebted to him now, though it felt completely weird: they were even – but it was the last thing he would gloat about. He was just relieved to see his heretic alive.

Von Innow’s grin vanished the very next moment. The captain looked up and asked in a sharp voice: “And where are you sneaking off to, _boy_?”

Benjamin turned to see Bruckmann and the Spaniard trying to retreat. The Spanish priest had put Bruckmann’s arm around his shoulders to support him.

The priests stood rooted to the spot for the blink of an eye. Then Bruckmann shrugged free and strode towards them, his step not sure, but with purpose. He glared furiously at Benjamin. Blood ran from his nose over bared teeth down to his chin. He trembled.

“Now you’ve shown your true loyalties, Kenneberg!” he hissed, stabbing a finger at Benjamin. “Never ever dare return or you’ll end up in the dungeon for the rest of your sorry life!”

The Spaniard seconded with a murderous glare: “Heretic!”

Benjamin stared at him, equally furious. “I’m not!”

The priest turned up his nose and led Bruckmann back to the hospital, supporting him with an arm around the waist when he swayed.

 _I’m not!_ In horror, Benjamin turned to von Innow. _Good God! We came here for ransom, and I …_

The tired smile on the captain’s face was definitely a smug one.

Of course: von Innow had feared the negotiations on ransom. The captain had taken him to his brethren to be true to his word once it was given, but he had said more than once that he was loath to part ways with Benjamin.

For von Innow all had turned out fine! And he, Benjamin Kenneberg, the greatest idiot who had ever studied at the Jesuit college of Mainz, he had mucked it up by breaking a priest’s nose!

Benjamin wanted to shout. He wanted to rage at von Innow. There went his future as a member of the Societas Jesu! They considered him a heretic!

 _Stop grinning!_ He wanted to shout. _They can not do this!_

But von Innow turned his back to him, to face the approaching riders.

The Saxon lieutenant stopped his horse at the dead bodies in the yard, scowling first at the dead and then at the survivor of the duel.

He made his horse walk towards von Innow. His men stayed close behind him, and at a flick of his fingers they surrounded Benjamin and von Innow. The captain frowned at the hostile gesture, but kept his gaze on the young officer.

“Now did you lie to me or was there a bounty on these men!” the lieutenant snapped, pointing at the dead major.

The captain sized him up with a withering look, the battle-proven soldier showing the whelp his place. “Would the Lord have granted me victory if I lied?”

 _What? You hypocrite!_ Benjamin gasped for air.

The lieutenant scowled. “They said the most terrible things about you.”

“Again, Lieutenant, would I have won if they had been right? In a church yard?” Now von Innow smiled. It unnerved the young officer visibly.

“What do I know!” he snapped. “You had help after all! Perhaps even the devil helped you! The major said this one is a Jesuit and that you’re a convicted sodomite who just managed to escape execution by bewitching your duke!”

“Well, really, Lieutenant!” Von Innow sounded honestly annoyed now. “And you fell for such rubbish? If I could bewitch dukes, I would have made it to general long ago and would be stinking rich and not haggling for ransom on printer boys!”

“But if this one,” the Lieutenant pointed at Benjamin, “is a printer, why you’re here, at a hospital full of Imperials?”

“We sought out my master’s house, but we were told that he had fallen ill with a bad fever and was taken to this hospital.” Benjamin tried hard to rein in his fury and sound like the devoted printer's apprentice. “Of course we would go here.” Thanking the Lord in secret for a flash of inspiration, he added, “The hospital staff, however, said he died, probably of the black plague …”

He pointed at the grave yard.

The lieutenant’s eyes got wide, and he made his horse take two steps back.

“You will leave the town!” he decided. “Right now! If you’re caught on Saxon territory tomorrow, you’ll be arrested and we’ll investigate their allegations against you! All of them!”

“Very well.” Von Innow nodded. He summoned the cavalry man who held the major’s horse by the reins. “That hack is mine now, my friend.”

“No!” the lieutenant interfered with vigour. For a moment he looked surprised about his own heated reaction.

Recovering, he declared, “All their possessions go the Saxon army! After all, they duelled on our territory! And if you dare contradict we’ll seize your nags too and you can leave the town on foot!”

Suddenly he looked very smug and self-confident. Of course the horses, weapons and officers’ belongings would end up in his own possession and not add to the army’s war chest.

His soldiers grinned too: what a coup! Just in case the Swede should object, some of them produced their swords.

Von Innow huffed out a deep breath. “ _That_ lesson you learned well, son.” Defeat was colouring his voice.

The lieutenant shone with satisfaction. Perhaps he was already imagining himself visiting his Lady Amalia on von Hassfurt’s elegant grey steed.

Von Innow climbed into Liese’s saddle with difficulty. Benjamin pondered for a moment to help him and push. He put the pistol back into the holster, wondering if help would probably cost the captain the last scrap of respect the cavalry men showed him.

“Get my hat and my sword, Benjamin,” von Innow ground out, probably guessing Benjamin’s intention. Then he was in the saddle.

The Saxons opened the circle to let them leave. Benjamin grabbed the captain’s hat and weapons from the ground, trying not to stare at the major’s cut throat. For a very unwanted moment he remembered von Innow kissing his neck and stroking it with the very same hands which had slaughtered von Hassfurt.

He forced himself to look away and cast a glance at the dead provost. He had hit the man right between the eyes.

Had the Lord guided led his hand and the bullet or had he had fallen so low that the devil had assisted him in this? Benjamin couldn’t tell. But he had killed this bastard. With a single shot at thirty paces distance! He knew he should feel contrite for killing, but he didn’t. He remembered too vividly the man’s smirk during his interrogation in the jail at Weissenfels.

“On horseback, soldier!” he heard von Innow say behind him.

Irritated, Benjamin gave the captain his hat and weapons. Putting on his hat, on Innow nodded at him encouragingly.

Benjamin mounted his horse. Four Saxons escorted them.

At first, they were stiff and official, then they commented on von Innow’s fight:

“That was quite a fight, Sir!”

“I wouldn’t have bet a guilder that you made it, fighting on foot in full cuirass.”

“Especially when your sword didn’t go through the buffcoat!”

“The major’s stuff was always of best quality. Your lieutenant will be very lucky to have it,” von Innow said in a polite voice.

“And that Spanish horse!” a soldier on an especially ugly nag sighed.

“The other one isn’t bad either.” His comrade frowned with envy.

 _Yeah, right: horses, loot, that’s all you morons can think about!_ Benjamin raged in silence.

When they had passed the last house and its gardens, the Saxon sergeant raised his hand and signalled to stop. “That’s the road back to Weissenfels. You'd better ride hard before the lieutenant realizes that he should have asked more questions.”

Von Innow turned to him, raising an eyebrow.

“About the fellows your ‘printer’ was arguing with for example,” the sergeant explained.

“No idea what these gallows birds wanted,” von Innow said in cold voice and nudged Liese into a trot. Benjamin followed in silence. He cast a wary glance back at the soldiers, but they had already turned their horses back to the town, chatting and laughing.

With a click of his tongue, von Innow urged his horse into gallop.

Benjamin’s horse followed on his own accord. _Oh, darn!_

“To the north!” von Innow called.

They were riding really hard.

# Chapter 36

Von Innow reined his horse in at the crossways. He left the road to Weissenfels and turned north, to Halle. He let Liese walk now, and Benjamin was as grateful for the breather, as were the horses. He had already been saddle-sore yesterday; no need to worsen the damage.

Going north meant going to the captain’s family. Images of shrieking heretics crossed Benjamin’s mind: of a cousin who would deny her relative shelter for bringing a Jesuit to her doorstep. But going north was certainly better than falling into the duke’s hands again.

Duke Bernhard would probably put a reward on their heads when hearing about his major’s and provost’s death. Benjamin wondered if these men had followed them on purpose, to finish what the Duke had refused to do: killing von Innow and him. Or had they come to Leipzig for whatever other purpose and got stopped by a patrol eager for an alleged bounty? He would never know. Still he felt no real contrition for having shot the provost.

_It was them or us._

His devil added: ‘Just a heretic, after all. Would have gone to hell anyway. And better sooner than later.’

_And if I hadn’t shot him, he would have gone on about the Societas and would have brought my brethren into jail and to the stake – or gallows._

‘Why, wouldn’t you like to see Bruckmann rot in the dungeon?’ the devil mocked.

_Yes, but… after all, it’s not a single priest’s character that counts, but God’s own blessing on him. And whose name would they have yelled when tortured? Names of good priests, of worthy members of the order. No, things turned out right. Lord, just make that sergeant forget his suspicions!_

It was that moment when von Innow looked around and made Liese walk slower until Benjamin had caught up and they were riding side by side.

Benjamin expected that von Innow would suggest a break now, but the captain asked with a forced smile:

“Didn’t you forget something?”

“Huh?” Benjamin looked at him, puzzled. He probably forgot a lot: to thank the captain for keeping his secret, for not setting the Saxons on his brethren's trail (though for a moment he indulged in the idea of seeing Bruckmann chained in a dungeon) …

Von Innow produced the pistol Benjamin had used and handed it over. Benjamin took it, wondering what this was about. The captain held out the powder flasks to him, the bullet pouch and the spanner. “Put them over the saddle horn. There. Now reload!”

Von Innow’s voice was flat. He looked grey in the face. Benjamin suspected he was in pain, but didn’t dare ask.

“Hold the reins with your left and the pistol too,” von Innow’s orders ended his musings. “Muzzle up, and rest the butt on your thigh. Right. Now pull the dog to the safe position … good. Powder.”

Benjamin still had no idea why he had to get a lesson in loading now. Was that the captain’s tactics to avoid speaking about the duel? About his bare-faced lie concerning the bounty and his blasphemous claim of a victory granted by the Lord?

_Seriously, the Lord had to choose between the frying pan and the fire when looking at these sinners!_

‘Us sinners … sodomite Jesuit-lovers,’ the devil clarified with a scholastic’s pedantry.

_Oh, shut up!_

Benjamin concentrated on showing von Innow that he knew how to use a powder flask’s mechanism singlehandedly. He had Father Andreas to thank for that.

‘Trust the Lord, but be ready to help yourself when it comes to heretics and highwaymen,’ the practical-minded priest had said and taught him how to shoot.

_And now I ride with a heretic who lies as shamelessly as any highwayman would to keep his neck out of the noose._

Seeing all the gun powder end up in the barrel, von Innow nodded, satisfied. “Load the bullet with a plaster. You don’t want the bullet to be shaken out of the barrel when we trot.” Dutifully Benjamin put a tiny scrap of waxed fabric on the lead ball and stuffed both into the barrel.

“In battle there won’t be time for it,” the captain explained. “But never forget it when on march.”

“Do you think you’re instructing a newly found recruit or what is this about?” Benjamin scoffed, not able to hide a grin.

Von Innow grinned back. “Don’t break the ramrod, and before you can call yourself a _recruit_ you’ll have to manage this in canter.”

Benjamin rolled his eyes.

“And thrice as fast,” the captain added in a dry voice. “Now, wind up the wheel until you hear the click. There. Powder onto the pan. Close it, and lower the dog onto the pan cover. Good. It isn’t the first time that you're doing that.”

“No.” Benjamin returned the pistol and the equipment. “But they don’t teach us that at school.”

Von Innow put the pistol into the holster and fixed the tools. “Good to hear. As for your schoolmate …”

Benjamin shook his head. “I don’t understand what had happened, either. They were supposed to help me.”

‘You don’t understand?’ his devil sneered. ‘You put a heretic’s life over your order, you disobeyed your superiors in his behalf, that’s what happened!’

 _If Father Michael had been there this would not have happened!_ Benjamin was certain of that. The priest would have understood, wouldn’t he?

‘That you love a heretic more than the Lord? What are you thinking?’ the devil sneered.

Benjamin hung his head. _I don’t love him, dammit! But should I have stood by, doing nothing?_

“Benjamin! You saved my life, and I’m grateful for that. When we’re at my cousin’s home, you can always write a letter to your order and explain,” von Innow interrupted his troubled musings. “Certainly you have supporters, the priest who wrote your credentials for example. I wouldn’t mind, however, if you stayed with me.”

Benjamin nodded, biting his lower lip and turning his face away from the captain.

_I’m doomed._

What would Father Andreas say? His other teachers back at Mainz? Would Bruckmann write them a letter as well? Of course he would: he had to report all incidents concerning the Order after all!

Enough people had heard the major call Captain von Innow a sodomite Jesuit-lover. Add Bruckmann’s hatred to that, and the allegation of leaving the battle field … And the Spaniard calling him a heretic! How could he prove his innocence? It was hopeless.

And what would his mother say? She had been so proud of him for becoming the first priest in her family.

_I will not cry!_

Unfortunately von Innow seemed able to read his thoughts. “Benjamin, if you insist on becoming a clergyman, because of family tradition or whatever, there are other orders, after all.”

“Will you shut up!” he shouted at his heretic.

Why did the man have to rub salt into his wounds!

Von Innow stared at him, taken aback.

“What other orders! Rubbish orders! I was with the best, and now they think I’m siding with heretics!” In fury he kicked his horse to make it run, but the beast refused.

 _Damn you!_ Feeling defeated by fate and creature, Benjamin hung his head. "I don't want to talk about it anymore!"

"Have it your way," the heretic said in a gruff voice.

 

***

 

They didn’t make it to Halle that afternoon. Night came early, the sunset hidden by fog and drizzle. Benjamin huddled miserably in a blanket, his thoughts dulled by despair, cold and hunger.

The captain was obviously in pain now and refrained from trot or gallop. The horses were fine with that, but that way they didn’t manage the first leg of their journey in time.

At nightfall they entered a village that wasn’t completely destroyed. The inn was burnt down, but people, locals, travelling merchants, and refuges alike, had gathered in the smithy. 

Von Innow nearly fell when he tried to walk a step away from his horse. Benjamin offered support, putting von Innow’s arm around his shoulders.

“Thank you,” the captain said under his breath when they limped into the smithy. “But look after the horses: if they’re stolen we’re lost.”

 _I’m not your servant,_ Benjamin wanted to snap, but von Innow was right, of course. Too many people were in dire need of horses these days. He put the captain on the first stool available and hurried back to the horses, which were already seized up by a couple of men.

Luckily, one of them was the smith’s apprentice. The money he wanted for a place in the stable and the fodder was outrageous, but Benjamin shrugged. He had not a single coin. Suddenly he found that the idea of being regarded as a servant wasn’t so bad at all. “My master will certainly agree to that,” he said smoothly, quite certain that von Innow would eat that insolent peasant alive.

Lugging their saddles and baggage into the smithy, he found the captain and the smith haggling: about food and a bed for them, fodder and a place in the stable for the horses and a cure for the captain’s knee.

Thus, after wolfing down a thin soup and some bread from their provisions bag, Benjamin had to assist the smith with a bleeding. Von Innow’s knee was swollen to immobility. “A horse ran me over,” von Innow told the smith – but not one word more.

“Don’t you think you'd better see a surgeon tomorrow in Halle?” Benjamin whispered when the blacksmith told his daughter to prepare a salve. “I mean, I don’t doubt he knows how to cure horses, but …”

“When it comes to bones and bruises, man and horse are quite alike,” von Innow said in a weary voice. “Who set bones in your home village by the way?”

“We had no-one who could do this, but in the neighbour village … the blacksmith,” Benjamin realized.

Soon, blood ran into a dish from two cuts into the swelling. The smith massaged the joint with strong strokes. Von Innow didn’t pass out like Benjamin had at the surgeon, but his eyes were squeezed shut and he gasped in pain.

All Benjamin could do at the blacksmith’s order was to stand behind the captain and make sure that he wouldn’t topple backwards off the stool in case he would faint.  So he held von Innow’s shoulders, supporting the captain’s head with his belly and trying to tear his gaze away from the blood. In silence, he cursed the major and his horse for inflicting so much pain on his heretic.

“We’ll be finished soon, Sir,” the smith promised, squeezing the swollen joint again to probe for bones and sinews. “It’s almost done.”

“… said the executioner and raised the sword for the third time,” von Innow ground out, and the blacksmith chuckled.

Benjamin couldn’t help chuckling too. “But you’ll be walking away from your ‘execution’,” he promised and patted the captain’s shoulder. Realizing what he was doing, he forced his hand to rest.

“Leaping merrily like a fawn,” von Innow groaned. “Oh, hell and damnation!” His whole body tensed, when the smith pressed his thumbs deep into his flesh. With his right hand von Innow grasped Benjamin’s arm instead of the stool like before. Benjamin was certain von Innow would leave bruises, but he didn’t mind. Bruises he could take. He was just lucky that von Innow hadn’t grabbed his hand. Then he would fear for his fingers.

It took another couple of minutes until the smith declared his work finished and pressed the cuts shut. “You’re lucky, that’s really badly bruised, but the bones are fine and the sinews will be if you give them proper rest.”

Von Innow slumped back against Benjamin’s support, sighing with relief. For a moment, he rubbed Benjamin’s arm as if to excuse himself for squeezing it hard before, then he let his hand drop into his lap.

“Help me carry him over there to the straw,” the smith asked Benjamin. A heap of reeds made a mattress along a wall, and would serve all the guests as a common bed tonight.

The blacksmith’s daughter brought a pot with a steaming black mass.

“What’s that?” Benjamin asked warily.

“Comfrey salve,” she said. “Do you have a towel and some woollen stockings?”

Benjamin searched the saddlebags. Together they improvised a bandage that held the hot compress in place. Benjamin took the pot from her hands and applied the salve himself. After all, it was not decent for a young woman to touch a strange man’s leg. The girl seemed content having one task less, and von Innow bore it with more patience than Benjamin had expected. Perhaps it was the blood loss that made the captain docile. Von Innow looked as if he would doze off the very next moment. Benjamin stopped fussing over his leg.

As soon as the girl was gone, Benjamin made the sign of the cross over the bandage and said some prayers, just to make sure that there was no witchcraft involved. They had used comfrey in the hospital as well, but one could never know.

When he looked up again, he saw von Innow watch him from drooping eyes, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Now it should work.”

Benjamin huffed out. “Why on earth do you have to mock everything! I’m trying to help you!”

“I know,” von Innow said. “And I appreciate the thought.” Frowning he added, “Please watch the horses.” His eyes shut and for a moment Benjamin feared the man had lost too much blood and was passing out. He grabbed the captain’s hand, felt it twitch between his own, and sighed with relief when von Innow started to snore some minutes later. He tucked von Innow in under four of his blankets, took the other three and the pistols and went to the stable to keep watch.

# Chapter 37

On the next day of their journey to von Innow’s cousin, they made it to Halle by mid-morning – just up to the city gate, to be precise.

“No passport, no passage,” the officer of the town guard stated.

“What’s that supposed to mean!” von Innow snapped. “I’m on the way through and I have to see a surgeon!”

The officer of the guard looked von Innow up and down, almost sneering. Sadly, in comparison to the splendid outfit of the guardsman, von Innow did look tattered. Benjamin was too tired to wonder what he himself might look like, wrapped in blankets against the morning cold.

“It means that we are under orders not to let any soldiers into the city who don’t have a _salvaguardia_ from their regiment. The area is full of Wallenstein’s Imperials, separated from their units. You might be one of them. Or a marauder even.”

“I fought at Leipzig in the first line to free your bloody country from the Imperials and you dare call me a marauder?” von Innow barked.  “Get your superior here at once!”

The officer of the town guard snorted and put his fists on his hips. “I am the commander of the guard! And I hardly believe that the councillors are anxious to meet a rider on a draught horse with only a single servant.”

“I see,” von Innow snarled. “But I take it there’s always the possibility to buy a _salvaguardia_ for your town.”

“Twenty thalers.”

“Twenty? Are you mad? I could buy two horses for that price!”

“Then you’d better do that. Otherwise nobody will take you for an officer!” the commander of the guard sneered and turned his back on von Innow. The guards with the halberds, however, blocked the gateway.

Von Innow turned the scorned draught horse Liese back to the road.

“I don’t believe it! These goddamned bastards! Bet they kissed the Imperials’ arses when they were in town, and now they’re behaving like highway men towards an honest officer! Always the same with these god-awful garrison shirkers! May Wallenstein come down on them the first day of spring! And the plague too!”

“Hm.” With only two stolen hours of sleep last night, Benjamin was too tired for a longer comment. He just wished the town guard commander would drop dead. “What now?” he asked, casting a wistful glance at the city fortifications. Behind the moats and walls, there were inns with food and beer, and beds … If they just had a _salvaguardia_ , a letter of credence that advised everybody to let them travel unperturbed! He shivered with cold and misery.

“Get my sash out of the saddlebag.” His heretic stopped the horse. “Damn them! I never wanted to wear his colours again, but I’ll show them ‘not taking me for an officer’!”

Frowning, but feeling too exhausted to discuss orders, Benjamin searched for the light blue silk and helped von Innow to put it on. He tied the fabric with a neat bow on the captain’s hip and tugged at the sash to cover both holes in the breastplate. “Seeing a barber would help as well,” he suggested.

“That money we’ll better save for food!” von Innow retorted. “By the way, you’re the one to talk with all that red straw in your face!”

Benjamin scratched his cheek and heaved a sigh. He wished he could sleep right here, right now.

“Get back in the saddle, soldier,” von Innow said in a much friendlier voice. “After all this is the trade route to the north, to Brandenburg where my cousin lives.”

 _If she still lives …_ in his mind’s eye, Benjamin saw an estate burnt down to the ground, as had so many these days. He mounted his horse and hoped it would simply follow von Innow’s.

“You’ll like it there,” von Innow promised. “It’s a nice manor, and my cousin is an industrious housewife, with a full larder and cellar. The have huge fish ponds, and the hunting is great as well.”

 _Dream on_ , Benjamin thought. There might be full larders somewhere in the north, but he knew pretty well that their provisions bag contained nothing more but a half loaf of bread. His stomach rumbled, and he wondered if the comfrey roots would make a meal. After all, the blacksmith’s daughter had given him three tubers when they were about to leave. She had pressed the roots into his hands, explained how to cook salve in a rush of breath, and then she had hurried away, blushing beet-red. And when Benjamin had wondered aloud about her weird behaviour – which evil plot did she hide that she was glowing red with shame? – von Innow had laughed at him and teased him about church boys who knew nothing about a lady’s heart. _Would serve him right if I ate the roots!_ Benjamin groused in secret.

He cast a glance at the sun which was visible today in a grey sky. Not noon yet. Trusting von Innow to take care of the way, Benjamin folded his hands and asked the Mother of God to intercede on his behalf. Last night, he had worried about his order and his sin, now he felt reduced to begging for an inn along the way and  safe travels.

 

***

 

The Lord answered his prayers by sending a merchants' trek in their way – or by allowing them to catch up.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” von Innow greeted their escort. “Would you mind if two travellers to Brandenburg joined you for a few miles?”

The riders glared warily at them and didn’t lower their guns. “You may follow at a pistol shot’s distance.”

“Thank you,” von Innow said with fake cheerfulness. Holding his horse back to allow the train some lead, he murmured, “Such is life if you don’t have a company of cuirassiers behind you! Damn!”

Benjamin thought of the merchants' train he had met when he still owned his mule and bags full of books and leaflets. He felt about to cry. But he would not weep in front of the captain. _It’s just the goddamn fatigue!_ he admonished himself. _With a decent night’s sleep everything will be easier to bear._

“Come on, Benjamin,” he heard the heretic next to him. When he looked up, von Innow opened their provisions bag and took out their last piece of bread. “Here, have a bite. You look like you’ll be falling off your horse any moment now.”

“Who made me guard the horses all night long?” Benjamin asked, too tired for any acerbity.

“Didn’t you take turns with the stable hands?” Von Innow frowned.

“Great guards!” Benjamin snorted, but he took the offered break eagerly. He broke it to return a share to von Innow. “All they thought about was cards and dice, leaving it to a little boy and me to stand watch because we hadn’t a single coin to wager. And I wouldn’t gamble away your pistols or the horses.”

“For which I’m grateful.” Von Innow’s smile was genuine. “Now, let’s follow. They’ve gained distance enough.” He pointed at the trek in front of them.

Benjamin chewed at his bread. _Dear Mother of God, let there be an inn at the end of the day_. _Just a bowl of soup, a bed and a stable with a proper watch. But I’ll also make do with the soup and some straw to sleep on …_

 

***

 

At nightfall, they were allowed to catch up with the train when they entered a town as tiny as Lützen. To Benjamin’s great relief, this town guard didn’t ask them for a _salvaguardia_ ; they were only interested in claiming the taxes on the merchants’ wares.

“You’ll have to excuse our riders, Captain,” the white-bearded leader of the merchants said when they finally, finally sat in an inn, eating cabbage soup. “One can’t be careful enough, and – no offence meant – but these days it’s hard to tell honourable soldiers and robbers apart.”

“Would it help if I saw the barber as young Benjamin here suggested this morning?” von Innow quipped.

The merchant chuckled, running a hand over his own splendid beard. “Nah, the last foraging officer who stole all our goods was clean-shaven like an angel from a Dutch painting. That’s no proof. So, you’re going where?”

“Home for the winter,” von Innow said. “After that battle at Leipzig I’d better prove in person to my family that I’m still alive.”

“That was a hard fight, they say,” the merchant said, trying to sound casual.

Von Innow grinned, seeing through the badly veiled curiosity. “One of the biggest and worst I ever fought.”

And the news was still new enough to entertain the inn with details of the battle. It got them beer for free, even a brandy and a place at the fire. Benjamin put his head on his arms, cradling his beer jug, and dozed off, warm and content.

 

***

 

“Ow! That’s hot!”

The captain’s shout woke Benjamin with a start. Turning to the cursing captain, he saw a maidservant with a steaming pot backing away from von Innow.

“But you said it had to be hot!”

“Hot, yes, but not scalding!” Von Innow rubbed at his naked knee with a towel. Obviously he had asked one of the maids from the inn to cook comfrey salve. Benjamin sighed. _Served him right! Why didn’t he wake me?_

He stood up. Now that he was awake, he could also take care of proper treatment. “If you don’t mind, I’ll take over,” he addressed the maid and held out his hand for the casserole.

The servant seemed more than just relieved and handed the pot over that was wrapped in towels. Benjamin stirred the too-thin pulp, tested its temperature. It was way too hot to apply onto skin. _Stupid wench!_ He cast a glare at the kitchen door where the woman had fled.

He heard von Innow chuckle. “Now, Benjamin, she hasn't killed me nor even tried. And you looked so happy and content when sleeping.”

“Next time just wake me.” Benjamin remembered von Innow comparing him with an angel when sleeping, and he resorted to frowning at the steaming mush in the pot. He pulled a stool closer to the fire place and put the pot onto the embers. “I’ll try to thicken it a bit first.”

There was time enough to fetch his beer jug and take a sip. With the rest of his beer he returned to the fire and started stirring the comfrey soup that would hopefully turn into a salve at some point. He cast a glance around: There were only a few guests left, most of them already sleeping at the tables. Probably he had slept for an hour or two. Since the merchants had left, Benjamin deduced they had got the chambers.

“Are you going to sleep here?” he asked von Innow.

The captain nodded. He was nursing his own beer, watching Benjamin.

“Is there something wrong with the rooms?” Benjamin asked more to keep a conversation going. He knew von Innow liked his looks. Still it felt creepy to him to be watched due to that.

“Too crowded, and too expensive for that,” von Innow said. He put the beer mug back onto the table and rested his chin in his hand. “Add the prospect of being kicked in my leg by several strange bedfellows at night.” He yawned. “No, I’m better off sleeping in a chair, dreaming of a real bed in my cousin’s house.”

Benjamin nodded. _Dear Mother of God, let there be a house and a bed, and not just ruins._ He resumed the stirring, grateful for the captain’s companionable silence. When the pulp was thick enough and Benjamin had stirred it for a while at the table to cool off, von Innow was dozing in his chair.

“Captain?” He nudged von Innow’s good leg, and von Innow woke up with a start.

“Let’s have another try,” Benjamin suggested and spread the towel under von Innow’s knee. He checked the temperature again before applying the salve, and his patient groaned with relief.

“Ever thought about becoming a physician?” von Innow suggested.

Benjamin shook his head. “I’m not cut out for it.”

“I feel in very capable hands this very moment.”

“Captain, really!” Benjamin lowered his voice and tried to veil his explanation enough for any eavesdropping heretic around. “Back home, I served three months in a hospital. It was a test. If you managed that, you’re supposed to manage any hardship, so to say. But I barely made it, feeling sick almost every day. I can tend to the sick if need be, but it’s hardly my vocation.”

‘If you have any at all,’ his devil said.

“I’m grateful that you do.” Von Innow leant forward and put his hand on Benjamin’s, rubbing his thumb over Benjamin’s wrist.

Benjamin lowered his eyes. Both the touch and the compliment made his chest constrict in a funny way.

“If you don’t mind,” he asked and carefully pulled his hand away to wrap the towel around von Innow’s knee and cover that compress with a woollen stocking. “It’s supposed to be kept warm as long as possible.”

Von Innow ruffled his hair. “You’re a good man, Benjamin, and I’m glad to have you.”

Benjamin kept his eyes firmly on the work. “Well, thanks.” He swallowed hard. _At least there’s one who is ‘glad to have’ me._ In his mind’s eye the devil conjured up the sneering Father Bruckmann who refused to pay ransom.

“You’d better sleep now!” he rasped when he felt able to speak again. “I’ll fetch the blankets.”

 

***

 

For Benjamin the night with a table top for a pillow was a refreshing one. Next morning, von Innow struggled up from the chair stiff and sore. “Damn, I’m getting too old for this!”

Despite his groaning and cursing he could walk more easily that the day before and didn’t need to lean on another man to go outside to relieve himself. Benjamin felt very relieved about that fact.

While the kitchen staff’s ability in cooking salves left much to desire, the breakfast soup was good, and von Innow also bought two days' provisions in bread and even some bacon, much to Benjamin’s delight.

When the merchants later allowed them to ride with the train, Benjamin felt himself smiling. For the first time in days – or was it weeks? – things seemed to get better.

‘Don’t get your hopes too high!’ his devil warned. But Benjamin crossed himself and thanked the Mother of God. Obviously she was with them by now.

 

***

 

Their good luck seemed to last during the day. At mid-afternoon, Benjamin rode next to a big wagon that shielded him from the wind. The merchants and their servants were chatting about the next town and wagered on a wheel of one of the carts: would it last or would they had to change it on the road?

“Want to bet too?” a boy with very bad pockmarks asked Benjamin.

“No, thank you.”

“Come on, just a penny!”

Benjamin sighed and looked at von Innow. He was about to ask his alleged master for an ‘advance’ that would hopefully be denied to give him an excuse for not wagering. But when he saw von Innow’s grey face and lost in thought mien, the bet was forgotten.

“Are you all right?” he asked, not able to keep the concern out of his voice. The last thing they needed was one of them getting a fever, and at once he thought about the rumours of plague in Leipzig which they had left just two days ago.

“Yes. Just thinking.”

“What about?” And for the sake of the merchants and guards around, he added, “If I may ask?”

Von Innow shook his head. “About my life, my luck, and the state of the world …” He shrugged. Looking Benjamin in the eye, he said, “I’m sorry about our slow pace. We’ll need two more days, perhaps even three.”

“I’m fine with that pace,” Benjamin assured. “If I had to keep up with your intended speed, I’d be saddle-sore in no time. And I’m certain our horses are grateful as well.”

“Yes, well, I knew there had to be one positive aspect in all that mess!” Von Innow gave him a tired smile, but then he resumed brooding.

Benjamin wondered what the captain was really pondering. His life would certainly be a thing to think over, at least as far as his future was concerned. But what if von Innow regretted having ever saved a certain Jesuit? _After all, if he hadn’t been sued for sodomy and for conspiring with Catholics, he could still enjoy a nice house in Weißenfels with a fire place and two casks of great wine._

 _But wouldn’t that major have found another way to accuse him? Trying to use this Alexander boy against him?_ Now Benjamin was pondering too.

 _Their quarrel_ was _older; I just got into the fray …_

‘Or so you hope!’ His devil was back. ‘Sooner or later he’ll hold it against you that he could have bought his estate with his books if it hadn’t been for a certain Papist who ruined his life. Just you wait!’

 _Shut up!_ Benjamin thought furiously. His frown got so thunderous that the train boy who was about to pester him again for a penny turned his back to him and looked for a more willing victim.

 

***

 

The wheel broke an hour later, and the whole trek stopped. While the riders skimmed the woods looking for highwaymen or even peasants who would be tempted to try their luck, the merchants and carters gathered to jack up the wagon and change the wheel, congratulating themselves on having dragged a spare part along.

Von Innow and Benjamin grazed their horses along the road, and after a while the captain limped into the forest. “No need to follow.”

Ah, well. Benjamin pitied, however, his heretic who was barely able to put weight on his hurt leg. Von Innow had looked relatively fine in the morning, but the riding didn’t do him any good. The tassets of his cuirass were now strapped on top of the blankets, but even the smooth leather of the boots seemed to worsen the pain.

Benjamin wondered if at least walking with a stick would ease the damage, and when he spotted one man with an axe who just watched the repair, he asked him to cut him a walking staff. The man did without any question and was satisfied with a simple “thank you”, much to Benjamin’s relief.

He was looking forward to seeing von Innow’s reaction to his splendid idea, but when he presented the staff, von Innow barked at him, looking suddenly furious like hell.

“I’m no cripple!”

“It’s supposed to help you walk so your knee can heal!” Benjamin objected, feeling annoyed.

Von Innow glared at him and clenched his hand as if he wanted to hit Benjamin with the staff that Benjamin was still holding out to him.

“Last night you complimented me on my talents as physician, now listen to your physician and try to avoid any more damage to your knee!” Benjamin felt like beating his heretic himself. How could one be so stupid!

“Fine!” Von Innow grabbed the stick and rammed it into the ground as if the soil had become his archenemy. But the next moment he leant on the stick, and when Benjamin returned to the horses, feeling really miffed, he saw from a corner of his eye his heretic following – and using the staff as he was supposed to.

 _At last!_ But Benjamin’s joy about his idea was ruined by now and wouldn’t return.

When the wagon was repaired and they mounted their horses, von Innow put the stick in his pack behind the saddle. Apparently he seemed inclined to use it a little longer. Climbing into the saddle and settling there with a groan, he said, “You know, I never wanted to become like my father, a bitter old bastard. And what am I doing now? Hobbling along on a crutch like him!”

So that was where his foul mood was coming from! Benjamin remembered well the captain’s tale about his youth. “As the blacksmith said, you’ll heal in time if you give your knee rest.” He tried really hard to sound strictly sensible and to keep the edge off his voice. “Using the staff for a few days will make sure that you’ll heal – and it’s just a stick after all and no crutch. Besides, you’ll need it just during the journey, and then you can laze around at your cousin’s until you’re restored to health. ‘Leaping merrily like a fawn’ – your words, Captain!”

All right, the edge had crept into his words at the end, but von Innow’s mouth quirked up in a lopsided grin. Not a happy one, but at least he didn’t look like anymore as if he wanted to murder Benjamin.

“A merry fawn. Of course, just as you wish, your Grace.”

Benjamin snorted, not able to be angry at his heretic any longer.

They reined their horses back onto the road where the wagon train started to move. There was a pale orange light near the horizon in the west, but near the horizon in the north there was a steeple visible as well: a rest at the end of the day was in sight.

They rode for a while in silence, until von Innow said in a morose voice, “I’d rather shoot myself.”

“Rather than what?” Benjamin pulled at the reins in surprise and had to kick his horse into gear the next moment. The beast took revenge by snapping at his shoe.

“Than becoming like my father.” Von Innow didn’t look at Benjamin. Obviously the sunset was much more fascinating, and his misshapen nose seemed to start hurting by the memory of his old man alone.

_Oh, joy!_

“What you become is entirely up to you,” Benjamin stated. “Just don’t you dare pile suicide on top of your sins. I forbid it, do you hear me! Your list of sins is already longer than the devil could write down on a cow’s hide – in very small letters, by the way –, and you’re challenging the Lord’s patience more than enough, I assure you!”

Next to them, a rider brayed with laughter. “Good God! From which seminary did you get this one?”

“Field chaplains’ breed.” Von Innow’s answer was given with a grin.

Benjamin rolled his eyes. _Dear Lord, give me patience! Patience and serenity …_

 

***

 

The steeple belonged to the biggest church of Dessau, as Benjamin found out soon enough. The closer they came to the town the more soldiers they met, and all of them hailed the train in the name of the Swedish crown.

The merchants, on the other hand, thought it a cunning idea to ask von Innow to deal with them. Hadn’t he mentioned the night before that he was from the regiment of Duke Bernhard of Saxony-Weimar, the current commander of the Swedish Forces in Germany? So the garrison officers of Dessau would certainly respect him, and if he could speed up taxation at the city gate if possible? After all it was already dark and everybody wanted to find supper and a bed.

 _Dear Lord!_ Benjamin stared wide-eyed at his heretic.

Von Innow seemed to be taken aback as well. After all, news travelled at the speed of a galloping courier horse, and several couriers had overtaken them on the trade route. Yet he agreed with a smooth, “Of course I’ll give it a try, but don’t get your hopes too high that a fat garrison officer will give a damn about a lowly captain’s pleas.”

Steering his horse away from the merchant’s wagon, von Innow told Benjamin under his breath, “Stay back as far as possible, and if things go awry, turn your horse and ride like the devil, do you hear me?”

Benjamin nodded, fear suddenly choking him.

Von Innow made Liese trot and joined the commander of the merchants’ guard at the head of the trek.

 _Ride like the devil, but where?_ Benjamin held his horse back as he was told. _Back to Mainz? Back home?_ He groaned. Without a weapon nor a single coin he wouldn’t make it anywhere far. But if there was a warrant, he shouldn’t be seen with von Innow. As the proverb said: ‘ _mitgegangen, mitgefangen, mitgehangen_ – set out together, got caught together, been hung together’. And he hadn’t just kept von Innow company, but had shot the provost! He cast a nervous glance around. When nobody watched he crossed himself and started praying that there weren’t already a drummer and a messenger in town, reading aloud descriptions of two criminals who murdered a major and a provost at Leipzig.

 

***

 

As in Halle, a lowly captain’s pleas didn’t speed up things at the city gate, no matter whose colours he wore. But as far as Benjamin could see, von Innow didn’t put much effort into it. Saluted rather sloppily by the town guard and ignored by the tax official, von Innow pulled his hat deep into his face, pretending to hide from the wet fog, and then he sat slumped in the saddle, waiting out the procedures at the gate.

He didn’t seem eager to get a room in an inn either when word got round that all inns and town houses were occupied by Swedish soldiers. The merchants’ guards swore aloud. They pulled the wagons into a yard of a fellow merchant company where they could be easily guarded, but for sleeping quarters, they had to make do with the stable.

“I don’t believe it!” the commander of the merchants’ treck guard spat, turning to von Innow as if a fellow officer’s opinion would put full weight behind his complaining. “The moneybags hide behind the ovens, but where would they be without us! Robbed of everything but their shirt and rotting in the shrubbery!”

Von Innow shrugged, unbuckling Liese’s saddle. “I’ve slept much worse than on an attic full of straw. You’ve noticed?” He pointed at the ceiling of the stable. “They’ve got _straw_ , these lucky sods! I haven’t seen a barn full of straw in weeks!”

“In weeks?” The officer looked at him taken aback. Then he summoned his servant to carry their baggage up to the attic and find him a good spot in the straw. “And chop-chop at that!”

 

***

 

The straw wasn’t just welcome to the horses; it made a darn fine mattress. Of course, Benjamin missed last night’s fireplace, but crawling under the blankets together with his captain meant they would share body heat and survive the night. Von Innow had refused to go to an inn for supper, pretending his knee hurt too much for a single step.

“We have one comfrey root left, I could prepare salve,” Benjamin had suggested, pointing at the house were the ‘moneybags’ presumably hugged the oven.

“No.” Von Innow had pointed at the attic. It made a fine hideout, even if that meant a cold supper from their provisions bag and no salve at all.

Most of the train menials and the guards dug themselves holes into the straw as well, settling in early. But instead of shutting up and snoring, they went on about how to spend their money tomorrow night when the wares had been sold and they would get their payment. If Benjamin had been eager to learn a thing about the brothels and pubs in Dessau he would have been grateful to learn about ‘Marie with the biggest boobs in town’ or the landlord who was suspected of watering down the beer with horse piss.

Von Innow didn’t seem to care that this waffle cost them their well-deserved time of night rest. On the contrary, he chuckled at especially stupid blather. Fine! Benjamin felt reminded of the dormitory in the Jesuit school on the rare occasions when the _patres_ had not been around at night: there was whispering everywhere, chuckling and swearing.

All right, he could sleep through this; the straw was comfortable, and fully dressed under the seven blankets he felt warm enough to doze off. His blissful haze ended abruptly, however, with a shout:

“Hey, you buggers, are you done by now!”

He jerked. _Now we're in for it! The pistols!_ He groped for them in the dark.

“Oh, shut up and go fuck your horse!” came the enraged answer from another end of the attic.

“Hey-hey-hey, leave the poor beasts alone!” another voice joined the chorus of catcalls. “Unlike you they worked all day long!”

“What do you mean I didn’t work?” That was the one who had shouted ‘buggers’.

“Well, who stood by and watched us changing the wheel, huh?”

 _So it’s not about us?_ Benjamin stifled his gasp of relief. He lay down and exhaled under the blankets. Next to him, von Innow chuckled under his breath. He groped for Benjamin and took his hand, squeezed it for reassurance.

Benjamin heaved a breath. _If they knew, they’d kill us._

While the guards and menials ranted and rustled on in the darkness, von Innow turned to him. Benjamin felt the scrape of a beard on his temple, then lips – a dry, silent kiss, followed by a whisper in his ear: “Don’t worry.”

Benjamin chuckled without mirth, and he managed to do it in complete silence. If von Innow noticed, he felt it through his hand. It still lay on Benjamin’s chest, clutching his fingers. Von Innow’s thumb rubbed his wrist. _Don’t worry, yes. Nobody can see us in this darkness._

Certainly it was the devil who gave him such a hare-brained idea, but Benjamin suddenly wanted to clutch his heretic tight, hold on and never let go. It was the most stupid idea, but the train menials were still making noise enough that nobody heard when he turned. In this darkness, the Lord alone would see what he did.

They were close enough for him to feel the captain’s breath on his face. Benjamin felt for the other man’s face, and found his cheek, stubble, the ear then. He slid his hand into von Innow’s hair and leant in, kissed his heretic back. He was aiming for the lips, but ended up on his nose first. Von Innow was eager to correct his error, and their lips met.

It was a careful kiss, any gasping or wet noises had to be avoided. It felt nice nevertheless. Von Innow ran his tongue along Benjamin’s upper lip, tempting him to open his mouth to the kiss. Benjamin did, anxious not to make any noise. His partner in crime nipped at his lower lip, and Benjamin felt his cock twitch with lust. At the last moment, he bit back a moan. This had to stop or he would make a lot of tell-tale noises and rustling in the straw to crawl upon his heretic! He pulled back, startled by his own courage. Where had that come from? Certainly the devil was to blame! _Am I mad to tempt fate?_

He ducked his head, shuddering. _I am mad!_

Yet his flesh was eager to sin, and all he could think of was that early morning in Leipzig: himself rutting naked between the equally naked Captain’s legs.

He bit down on his fingers. _Think of the Lord! He didn’t suffer at the cross for your sins so that you can continue offending him with that disgusting lust of yours! And if these fellows around find out …_

Von Innow pulled up the blankets so Benjamin could hide again under them, his face pressed into the captain’s chest. Von Innow patted his hair. That was nice, and after a really long while it felt more soothing than arousing. Benjamin felt himself relax.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

Von Innow hummed, sounding really content. But after some time, the stroking stopped, and he started to snore.

 

***

 

The next morning was a bright one. Benjamin squinted when he left the stable, and the sun shone brightly for the first time in three weeks. It was a crisp morning, and everyone, man and horse alike, puffed clouds of white steam.

But the sky was clear of any clouds, and the sunlight twinkled in the windows of the merchant company’s house. Benjamin remembered von Innow’s tale about the Sunday morning at the church when the sunlight broke through and young von Innow imagined that the Lord had forgiven him.

Thinking of their kiss from last night, Benjamin felt relieved that there were no black thunderclouds around. Of course he knew that wanting to read the Lord’s will from clouds was pure superstition, but, well, better the weather was good.

‘As if the Lord needed bad weather to punish you for your lusting!’ his devil piped up. ‘He has much harsher means of discipline at his disposal. Just you wait!’

 

***

 

Von Innow took his leave of the merchants and their guards even before breakfast, eager to ride out of the town as soon as the city gates were opened. Of course, he pretended that he was eager to see his family again, and the merchants nodded sagely. “We won’t make your wife wait and worry for you any longer. Please give her our best regards.”

Von Innow thanked them and promised to do that, experienced liar that he was.

While he would have loved something hot for breakfast, Benjamin was keen on leaving this Swede-infested town too.

But they had barely made it across the market-place when there was a shout: “Stone the crows! If that isn’t Kai von Innow!”

Said von Innow groped for his sword, but upon recognizing the one who had roared from an inn’s gate, he broke into a huge grin. “Go blimey! The little Itzenplitz!”

‘The little Itzenplitz’ didn’t seem to stand much shorter than von Innow, and he looked even taller when he mounted the huge charger a servant had just led from the stable. The Itzenplitz himself looked so horsey that his mount had dignified features in comparison, and two missing teeth in front of the Itzenplitz’ grin tipped the scales even more in favour of the beast. If he hadn’t been dressed like a nobleman, Benjamin would have taken him for a highwayman of the worst sort.

He seemed to be family, however, because the first thing the Itzenplitz said was, “Thank God, one less task on my list! When I was at Katharina’s she made me swear to find out about your wellbeing. Have you been in the battle?”

Von Innow pointed at his cuirass. “See the holes?”

The Itzenplitz looked impressed. “I always said that you’re a frozen one: completely bulletproof!” Then he reined his horse closer, and asked, “Is there sure proof that the King of Sweden is dead? Have you seen his body?”

“I actually did, your Lord can start celebrating.”

“Hey, come on! Of course, Duke Georg Wilhelm bemoans the loss of his brother-in-law!” But there was a sneer in the Itzenplitz’ voice that belied his words.

“Is there any plan to finish the campaign and to dissolve the army?” he kept on asking.

Von Innow raised his hands. “Sorry, I don’t know anything about that. When I left they were still waiting for a reaction from the Swedish chancellor.”

“But it’s true that the youngest Weimar took over for the time being?”

Von Innow nodded.

“Oh, come on! Don’t make it so hard for me to drag it all out of you!” the Itzenplitz said with a most dramatic air. “As you are obviously going home for the winter, there must be an end of this year’s campaign at least! So, do we have to be prepared for billets, or does the army stay in Saxony? Where’s your company for example? Or is that a military secret?”

Von Innow looked seriously annoyed by now. “There is no company anymore! After the battle, I had eight men left! By the way, we would have been more than grateful for some reinforcements from our Brandenburgian ‘allies’!”

The Itzenplitz sneered at that. “Right! As if it weren’t bad enough to keep these ‘defenders of the Protestant liberty’ from robbing and looting everything on their way!” He jerked his thumb at a patrol of Swedish soldiers. “Anyway, shall I give Duke Bernhard your regards? I’m going to meet him after all.” He patted a messenger’s bag on his side.

“You don’t want to do this,” von Innow said taken aback.

“Why? Is there a problem?” The Itzenplitz didn’t become easier on the eye when trying to look sly.

“A major and a provost killed in a duel,” von Innow retorted in a cool voice. “Would you regard that as a ‘problem’?”

The Itzenplitz whistled through the gap in his teeth. “Really, Kai, you’ll never learn how to stay out of trouble!” Shaking his head, he looked his relative up and down. “All right, I'd better forget that I’ve met you at all. But make sure to visit Katharina, now that you’re here. The poor lass was sick with worry. Makes one wonder if she would care for her own husband that much …”

Von Innow pulled a face, but nodded.

The Itzenplitz summoned his following of eight riders and set out to the southern gate of Dessau.

Von Innow made Liese walk in the other direction. He looked seriously annoyed.

“Who on earth was that?” Benjamin blurted as soon as the Itzenplitz was out of sight.

“A distant relative. He’s in the Duke of Brandenburg’s service.”

“And his name is?”

Von Innow cast him a puzzled glance.

“Now, come on!” Benjamin laughed out. “Nobody is called ‘Itzenplitz’! That sounds like a curse, like ‘Potzblitz!’, or ‘Zounds!’, or ‘Go blimey!’”

Von Innow chuckled. “No, that _is_ a name, and ancient Brandenburg nobility, at that!”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Benjamin huffed. “I’m really wondering where I’m going!”

“As you heard, we’ll visit the Lady Katharina. She happens to be the cousin I wanted to visit anyway. In order to do that, first we’ll cross the Fläming.” Von Innow pointed at a line of hills in the north. “Nice woods, full of robbers. Prepare to ride in gallop for quite a while today. Behind it, there’s Brandenburg, a lovely country of sand and swamps with a rather indecisive Duke. With better horses and us in better shape, we could make the ride in one day, but if we’ll make it today to Belzig, we’ll make it to my cousin by tomorrow afternoon.”

That sounded promising enough. Benjamin kicked his horse into trot.

They left the town and rode over the famous Dessau Bridge. Seven years ago, General Wallenstein had been victorious here, ‘beating the Mansfeld on the head’ as he had reported his victory over the heretics’ strategist to the Emperor. But now Protestant soldiers manned the fortifications of the bridgehead. Fortuna was a bitch after all!

“Did you fight here too?” Benjamin couldn’t resist asking.

“Thank God, no! I lost a cousin and some friends here, though.” Von Innow frowned at the open countryside on the other side of the river Elbe, the former battlefield. “That was an awful slaughter.”

Benjamin wondered it had been the cousin Achim from von Innow’s tale. But he was reluctant to ask. His heretic looked stricken enough.

“I rode for King Christian of Denmark that year,” von Innow explained. “Wasn’t much better after all, we just got our thrashing some months later at Brunswick. Then His Majesty ran home, tail between his legs and owing me two months’ pay.”

Benjamin nodded. That had been General Tilly’s victory. But whatever the Catholic strategists achieved and however many heretics they hunted down, there were always new ones crawling from their holes to fight the Emperor, their ruler by God’s grace.

He felt obliged to discuss their unholy insurrection with von Innow, but under the watchful frowns of the Swedish bridge guards it was certainly the wrong place to do so.

 

***

 

The Fläming turned out to be an easier ride than expected: no robbers crossed their way. Two hours before sunset, they reached Belzig, a tiny town below a huge, but old-fashioned fortress.

Close to the border to the Duchy of Brandenburg, it was occupied by Swedish soldiers as well, and when Benjamin and von Innow rode to the inn by the marketplace, one of said Swedish soldiers came flying out of the pub window, smashing the mullioned glass: no witchcraft involved; though – a huge brawl was to blame. Stools and steins were hurled after him as well, but the soldier regained his feet and went back to join the fight, roaring.

“Damn, that looks like another night in a stable.” Von Innow scowled.

To their luck, soon a patrol led by an officer showed up and cleared the inn. The landlord bemoaned his bad luck and the loss of his window. “There’s no food left, but at least I can offer fire wood:” He pointed at the rubble of some benches.

Von Innow took a guilder form his pouch. “Is there a chance that a cask of beer survived in the cellar? And what about fodder for two horses?”

The inn-keeper snatched the coin from his hand. “Of course there is!” Glad about at least one paying customer after the havoc, he also offered to nail the broken window as soon as he would return from the cellar.

The remains of broken benches made a nice fire on the hearth and kept Benjamin and von Innow warm. Luckily one table had survived to sleep at.

 

***

 

The next morning started just as bright. After an early breakfast that cleared their provisions bag, von Innow decided that he had to see a barber first, before visiting his relatives.

The barber’s shop was down the street to the city gate, and Benjamin held the horses, looking forward to a shave himself. “After all, I can’t drag such a red-bearded devil in her house!” von Innow had quipped.

A patrol of riders came down the lane from the fortress. Benjamin had to push their own horses out of the cavalry men’s way, and his ungrateful bay bit him in the arm. Yelling at his horse which wouldn’t let go, Benjamin didn’t notice at first that the riders had stopped.

Finally the evil beast let go of him.

“Nice horses,” a mocking voice said behind him.

“Nice?” Benjamin rubbed his forearm, turning to a young cavalry officer; who grinned at him. That officer rode a much better horse, though of no special breed like von Innow’s Friesian or the Spanish horse he had won in battle. Benjamin decided to be nice towards the officer to get rid of him. “Not as nice as your steed, Sir, not at all. And I’m sorry for blocking the way.”

Though the way was free now, the cavalry men wouldn’t go. “And these horses belong to?”

“Well, my master.” Benjamin shrugged. It felt safer to play stupid than to give von Innow’s name away.

“And your master happens to be who?”

“Is there any problem?” Benjamin heard von Innow’s voice from behind. The Captain stood in the door of the barber’s workshop. The left half of his face was shaved already, and he would have made a funny sight, if he hadn’t been glaring so furiously.

“What’s your name and your purpose in our town?” the officer asked in a stern voice.

“You will address me as ‘Captain’, and my purpose is to visit a barber as you can see!” von Innow retorted in a reprimanding voice, as if the other officer were a cheeky child.

“Well, ‘Captain’,” his counterpart said unperturbed. “As a travelling officer you’ll certainly have a _salvaguardia_ or such from your regiment.”

“As it happens it was stolen together with my riding horses and baggage down at Halle. Or do you think I’m used to travelling on a cart horse!” von Innow huffed. In Benjamin’s eye he was very convincing, but the other officer was not impressed.

“Too bad. Then you will come with us.” The other officer jerked his thumb at the fortress.

“What’s that supposed to mean!”

“It means, ‘Captain’, that you are under arrest! We don’t need any marauders or spies in our town!”

As if on clue, the soldiers pulled their pistols and aimed at von Innow.

“Just you wait until I've spoken with your commander, my boy!” von Innow barked. He went to Liese, and Benjamin noticed that von Innow tried hard to hide his limp and almost succeeded.

“On foot,” the other officer said in a cold voice. His soldiers closed in, pulled the reins from Benjamin’s hands.

“Very well,” von Innow said in an equally icy voice. Not even turning to Benjamin, he pointed at the barber’s shop. “You go and get shaved while I clear up that misunderstanding!”

Benjamin ducked away, and the soldiers actually let him pass. Though he never ever wanted to be anybody’s servant but the Lord’s, there were advantages to being mistaken for a rundown servant.

Entering the shop, he heard von Innow bark, “It’s bad enough that you think you can have your ways with me, but my servant is still mine to order around!”

It seemed to be a valuable argument, because no-one came after him. The riders led von Innow and the horses away.

“Lord, help me, a sinner!” Benjamin stared after the patrol returning to the fortress.

“The Lord help you indeed,” he heard an old man’s voice. The barber returned from the kitchen. Behind him, a slightly younger woman glanced at Benjamin with concern.

“You better run, boy, before they change their mind!” the barber said, obviously not intent on shaving Benjamin. Benjamin was grateful for this disobedience: sitting still with a knife at his throat was the last thing he would be able to put up with now.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He pointed at the retreating riders. “My captain didn’t do anything wrong in your town!”

The barber shrugged with a weary sigh.

Benjamin felt his stomach clench. “What are they going to do to him?”

“It depends.” The old man cleaned his razor. “Some were released, robbed of their belongings, while others could buy themselves free or contacted their families for ransom. There might some poor souls still rotting in the dungeons, as well.”

“You'd better leave the town right now,” the woman chimed in. “So that they won’t take you too.”

Benjamin stared at her in dismay.

‘She’s right!’ his devil urged him on. ‘Run while you can! You don’t want to end up in the dungeons!’

“But when they set him free and I’m not here …”

“Then he’ll come here and ask where you are,” she said in a soothing voice. “Come, let’s get you out of town with a purpose good enough for the guards at the gate. I’ll give you a parcel for my brother in the next village. You’ll take it there, and when your captain returns I’ll send him to my brother’s house. But you must swear to me that you’ll deliver my parcel!”

“Hilde, don’t take any risks in behalf of a stranger!” her husband objected.

“Delivering a shirt is no risk, and these god-forsaken robbers deserve any trick one can play at them! After all, they stole all my brother’s geese he drove to the market!”

The barber slumped in surrender.

She left the kitchen and fetched at bundle of linen, tied with a cord. “Tell him, Aunt Anne sends her regards. Don’t forget that! Then he’ll certainly help you.”

A few minutes later, Benjamin passed the city gate, carrying a parcel like the average errand boy while the barber’s wife called after him, “Woe betide you, if you return as drunken as last month! And keep away from the maids, especially the ones without a neck kerchief, do you hear me!” The guards laughed at her instead of checking who the barber’s wife saw off.

 

***

 

Benjamin hurried down the road until he could hide behind a hedge. “Lord help us, I beg you!”

Seeing the massive town wall and the fortress above it, he fully realized what he had been told: the garrison soldiers acted like highwaymen! They had taken his captain, they had taken the horses, and the devil might know, if they would release von Innow.

“Dear Lord, please don’t let them kill him! Make that they’re content with the few guilders he has left! Even if they keep the horses, but please don’t allow them to do him harm!”

_And where shall I go if they keep him? I don’t even know the Lady Katharina’s full name! Is she a Lady von Itzenplitz now? No, the Itzenplitz had referred to her husband … How to find her then? And that Itzenplitz will be miles away by now! I could go to the Duke of Brandenburg’s court. After all, the Itzenplitz serves him, so there will be more Itzenplitzes around …_

Someone tall left the town gate on foot – but no, it was just a trader carrying a pannier.

With a dismayed groan, Benjamin sat on his haunches. _Lord, I know you’re right to punish us, but please, please have mercy with us, just this one time! I swear to be good … yes, I know I broke all my vows so far, but please have mercy! I promise I’ll be as good as I can, but please, set him free!_

Benjamin hid in the bushes, and when riders left the gate, he hastily retreated into the reeds behind the hedge. No von Innow among them. And they headed south, to Dessau.

All he could do was to watch who left the city and hope it would be von Innow. But of course he couldn’t watch the other town gate from his position. What if von Innow would leave the town at the gate on the opposite side, near the fortress? Had he left it already?

‘And hadn’t you sworn to deliver the parcel?’ his devil reprimanded.

_Just a moment! Until the church bells toll noon._

 

***

 

Noon came and went, and two hours later, there was still no von Innow in sight. _Perhaps he’s already at the farm and worries if I fell victim to robbers._

Benjamin clutched the parcel to his chest. For leaving his watch, he felt like a traitor, but the barber wife’s plan had been sensible, that much he had to admit. They could meet at the farm, and if the extortionists would keep von Innow for ransom then it wouldn’t help him if Benjamin sat in the reeds all day long.

He went back on the road, cast a glance at the gate and an other, trying to will the captain to appear, but when there was nobody, Benjamin started to walk.

 _Just three miles,_ she had said. _Cornelius Petersen’s farm._ _It’s the second house on the right ride. They have a huge piebald dog, you can’t miss it, but don’t go near the dog._

Benjamin hurried.

 

***

 

There was a huge black and white dog, and it made an awful racket. There were no horses in the yard, however. A dust-covered peasant with a flail came from the barn while a few men more watched from the gate. “What do you want!”

“Are you Cornelius Petersen?”

The man nodded with reluctance. Probably he wondered how much trouble the visitor would bring.

“I carry a parcel from your sister Hilde of Belzig,” Benjamin held out the parcel to him. “It’s a shirt she wanted to give you, and she told me to give you Aunt Anne’s regards.”

The farmer took the shirt and frowned even more, but now he looked at Benjamin with concern and not as if Benjamin was just a nuisance. “Come in,” he said and jerked his thumb towards his house. “Are they in trouble?”

“No, your relatives are fine, but my captain was arrested.” Benjamin told his story on the way to the farm house.

“That’s bad,” Petersen said. “I don’t want any trouble because of you, but for bringing me the shirt you’ll get a bowl of porridge.”

“That’s very kind, thank you.”

Inside the house, several women were busy with breaking and combing flax. They frowned at Benjamin too, but among them his story bought him no sympathy.

“All soldiers are robbers and rapists,” the housewife stated. “Serves your master right that he learns about the other side of the trade now.” Nevertheless she gave Benjamin a generous serving of porridge, while her companions admired the embroidery on the shirt the barber’s wife had sent.

Benjamin dug in, grateful for the food. But when he was finished, he noticed the wary glances at him. Whatever the barber’s wife had planned about a meeting point, he wasn’t welcome in the Petersens’ house.

“I’d better return to the city,” he announced. The frowns around him smoothed out visibly. “Is there anything you want me to take back? After all, it would be easier for me to pass the gate if I carried some thing or message.”

“Just give Hilde our thanks. The shirt is lovely.”

Benjamin nodded and stood up. After all, he had the feeling that he should be at Belzig, that every step away from the town had been a mistake.

“Thank you for the food,” he said politely. “I’ll go to Belzig to investigate. If my captain turns up here, please tell him to wait. I’ll be back here at sunset to look for him, if you don’t mind.”

“But don’t you think you can scrounge a place for the night here!”

“No, Madam, of course not. It’s just in case we miss each other.” Benjamin raised his hands in defence and left the house.

 

***

 

Worrying for his captain all the way back to Belzig, Benjamin reached his former hiding place just in time to see another group of riders leave the gate. He jumped into the reeds.

But the riders wouldn’t come down the road. They were still at the gate, milling around, laughing and shouting. After a while they returned into the town.

Pushing the stems aside, Benjamin peeped out of the reeds. In front of the gate, there was someone left sitting on the ground, clad in nothing but a shirt.

_What on earth?_

But judging from the shirt, it was a man who scrambled to his feet. A tall man with long brown hair. A man who badly limped when he went to the guards who blocked his way.

Benjamin hurried to the gate. After half the way, he was certain: It was his heretic! It had to be him!

The guards pointed down the road – with an imperious gesture to infinity, not at Benjamin.

The man turned with a defeated air, and now Benjamin recognized him: It was von Innow! _Praise be to Jesus Christ!_

“Captain! Are you all right?”

Von Innow gaped at him, then a relieved smile brightened his face and he spread his arms to welcome Benjamin.

Benjamin hugged him close. “What the hell did they do to you?”

“Well, isn’t that obvious?” Von Innow hugged him back and kissed the crown of his head. “Thank God, you’re well. I was so worried that they had taken you too!”

Something flew by close at their heads and both men jumped.

“Get lost, you buggers!” One of the guards called. His comrade picked up another stone and weighed it in his hand glaring menacingly at them.

Benjamin saw von Innow puff himself up, certainly to bark at the guards. To make sure that von Innow didn’t do anything stupid, Benjamin grabbed von Innow’s left arm, put it around his shoulders and pulled the captain away. Not steady on his feet due to his bad knee, von Innow had no choice but to follow.

The stone was hurled in their direction, but it didn’t hit.

“These god-awful bastards!” von Innow hissed.

“I know. But, after all, you’re alive and you’re free!”

“Now do you want me to be grateful that these arseholes robbed me down to my shirt?”

“No. But for the fact that they set you free! They might have killed you out of a whim, highwaymen that they are! The barber’s wife said sometimes they keep people for ransom and put them in the dungeon for God knows how long! Do you have any idea how much I worried for you!”

That shut the heretic up, thank God.

 

***

 

Benjamin led von Innow down the road until they reached the hedge, his first hiding place. Out of the guard’s view he stopped and let go of the captain. Von Innow wobbled, but stayed on his feet. Benjamin took off his jacket, then his shirt and gave it to von Innow. The jacket wouldn’t fit the captain, and Benjamin wasn’t willing to give it away either. The wool was itchy on his bare skin, but he hurried to button the jacket. Though the sun was shining, it was a cool day in late November.

“Thank you.” Von Innow looked humiliated by now.

Benjamin felt embarrassed. “You would be in better company with a Saint Martin and his cape since I won’t rip my jacket apart.”

But Benjamin’s shirt was wide enough to fit over the one von Innow was already wearing. The captain straightened his shirts looking sadly at his bare feet, wriggling his toes. “Damn, that’s not the way I imagined …” He swallowed hard.

Benjamin didn’t know how to console him. He hadn’t imagined either the last leg of their journey to turn out that way. To keep his mind on their remaining options, he pointed down the road. “It’s three miles to the next village. The barber’s wife sent me there and she would have sent you there as well to meet me if you had asked for my whereabouts. The peasants are not friendly, but they were not outright hostile either. Perhaps they’ll let you stay for a while until I inform your cousin where to find you. Do you think you can walk three miles?”

“I’ll have to. Damn! Isn’t there any staff to be found in this god-forsaken hedge!” Von Innow limped to the roadside and started to tear at a hazelnut bush. He broke off a branch and started to pluck away the twigs, stopping from time to time to wipe at his eyes with an increasingly furious gesture.

“There!” he snarled when the branch was good for its new purpose. “Back to the road! What are you waiting for!”

 _For you to finish that staff – and to stop crying._ Benjamin followed von Innow. It was clear to see that every step hurt. Von Innow’s knee was still swollen, and he wouldn’t put much weight on it.

“Let me help,” Benjamin asked in a small voice and offered support as he had done before. Von Innow accepted it, not looking at Benjamin at all when be took the staff with his other hand to put his arm around Benjamin’s shoulders again. His breathing was ragged.

Not knowing what to say, Benjamin rubbed his back. That made his heretic sob.

“Let’s go!” von Innow ground out, pulling Benjamin with him, but needing him at the very next step for support.

Benjamin was certain that these would be the longest three miles he had ever travelled.

“Now,” von Innow snarled a few steps into their journey. “Why is it that I’m already hearing you telling me that this is the just punishment for my many cow-covering sins!”

 _Probably because you hear not me but your conscience for once._ But for the sake of peace, Benjamin wouldn’t say it aloud. “I beg you, Captain, let’s not argue. Just walking this way will be tiring enough for both of us.”

Von Innow answered with a grunt at first, but a few steps later, he blurted, “God, it’s not fair! It’s just not fair!”

After that, they walked in silence.

# Chapter 38

 “So that’s your captain?” Cornelius Petersen frowned at Benjamin first, then even more at von Innow’s state of undress. They were standing on different sides of the farm’s fence, and the piebald dog made an awful racket again.

“Not much left what you expected of a ‘captain’, hm?” von Innow asked with a lopsided grin; a very tired one, though. He leant heavily on Benjamin’s shoulder, and Benjamin prayed in silence that Petersen might change his mind and grant them quarter for the night.

Judging from their weapons, the peasants had not expected a single captain, and a destitute at that, but looting soldiers. Petersen held his flail and had – unlike this morning – a big knife in his belt. The men who gathered around them were armed with axes, and two of them even carried muskets.

“All we ask for is quarter for the night,” Benjamin begged. “We won’t be a nuisance.”

“Yeah, that’s how it starts!” the peasant with the biggest axe snarled. “Take one beggar in, and the next ones trail after him, and after them come the marauders.”

“We aren’t beggars!” Von Innow straightened to his full size. “I was travelling to Brandenburg, but was robbed of my horses by the Belzig garrison, just so, and …”

“Then travel on, in the devil’s name! We don’t need your kind here!” That was Mrs. Petersen who had left the house together with her flax workers, armed with knives and clubs.

“And what would be ‘my kind’, Madam?” von Innow asked. “All I am is a wounded man who asks for a little compassion in the form of a sleeping place for the night so he won’t freeze to death on the road.”

“Compassion?” She raised her fist.  “Where was your compassion when you soldiers looted our village, raped and abducted our daughters! As far as I’m concerned you can freeze to death or get eaten by the wolves – I don’t mind, just fuck off!”

“There now, Johanna,” Petersen said, taken aback.

“She’s right, Cornelius,” a man with a musket spoke up. “As soon as these gallows birds are armed and mounted again, they’ll have no qualms looting. We'd better shoot them right now!”

“You can’t do that!” Benjamin called out.

Inside his head, the devil brayed with laughter. ‘How could you’ve been so naïve to return here?’

“Gentlemen, please,” von Innow raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Let’s make a deal…”

“No deals!” Johanna Petersen shouted. “Kill them already!”

“Why on earth do you insist upon tainting your soul with murder, woman!” Benjamin snapped. “Wasn’t it bad enough what already happened in your village? We came here, humbly asking for your help, giving you a chance by that to prove yourself worthy of the Lord’s mercy! But instead of being a good Christian, learning your lesson from the Holy Bible and following the example of the Good Samaritan, you call upon murder as if you were Caiaphas himself! Though the Lord says: _Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done unto me_!”

“Hear, hear!” One of the men laughed. “That lad preaches better than the pastor! Perhaps we should keep at least him.”

“So my sermons are not to your liking, Schmitt?” a black-clad man outside their circle huffed, putting his hands on his hips.

“Uh, no, Reverend, I didn’t say so, I mean …”

Now the other ones laughed at Schmitt’s expense.

The pastor summoned Benjamin and von Innow over. “Leave the village. Right now.”

“Thank you.” Benjamin lowered his head to a bow as if greeting one of the Fathers of his order or the Archbishop himself.

“Thank you,” von Innow said. He didn’t bow, but sounded rather meek.

The preacher’s authority was great enough to grant them escape unscathed. He went with Benjamin and von Innow through the village. They passed a sturdy church made of cobblestones and a vicarage that looked big enough to house not just two guests, but many. However, Benjamin didn’t dare challenge the Lord by asking the Lutheran preacher for quarter. Von Innow gave that house a pointed look too, but the parson went on, straight to the other end of the village.

The way north lay in darkness already, while the last beams of sunlight painted the naked treetops on the hills in an eerie red.

“God with you, gentlemen,” the parson said to Benjamin and von Innow. Then he turned to the peasants who had followed them, and drove his flock home with not so gentle words. “No better than robbers!”, “Thou shalt not murder!”, “Behaving like soldiers and other pests!” – These were the phrases Benjamin and von Innow could hear carried through the night when they resumed their way.

“Doesn’t seem to be such a bad preacher after all,” von Innow murmured.

“Now you might want to change you bleak outlook on ‘clerics’, Captain! After all, one just saved your life!” Benjamin gritted his teeth trying not to grin too triumphantly.

“If I remember correctly, you were the one who started with the homilies!” A mocking tone crept back into von Innow’s voice. “So it were two: a Lutheran and a Papist, and in unison at that! Is such a thing allowed at all?”

“You have no idea of what we clergymen would pull off just to usher such a pagan as you back to the fold of the Holy Mother Church!”

“Dear God, have mercy!”

That sounded so heartfelt that Benjamin cuffed his heretic in the ribs.

Von Innow staggered, and his heretical chuckle was replaced by a hiss of pain.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to …” Hastily, Benjamin put his hand on von Innow’s arm to steady his companion. “Do you want to lean on me as before?”

“That would be a kindness,” von Innow murmured and put his arm around Benjamin’s shoulders. Benjamin shrugged a little to find the best position to support him. Then he put his arm around von Innow’s waist. “Ready when you are, Captain.”

Von Innow snorted. “What a fine captain I am! No men, no horse, no boots even! Just call me ‘Kai’.”

Benjamin didn’t know what to reply. Being on first-name basis with a nobleman was a thing he’d never expected to achieve outside the clergy. He was truly baffled.

“Now, come on.” Von Innow pulled him forward. “It’s about ten miles to Golzow, perhaps twelve, I don’t remember. After that, it’s only an hour by horse. So if we walk on during the night, we’ll make it there before noon. We’d just better avoid crossing the next villages.”

“Sounds reasonable.”

“Don’t mock me, Benjamin. We were really lucky. In Bavaria they would have slain us without asking any questions first.”

Benjamin nodded. No wonder, since the Swedish army had burnt down every village there just to teach the Duke of Bavaria a lesson – a lesson he hadn’t suffered for, however: when things went awry and the Swedes laid siege to Munich, Duke Maximilian ran away to Austria, to hide behind his cousin, the Emperor. _No wonder that the Lord doesn’t grant us victory, if our dukes turn out to be pompous cowards – the leader of the Catholic League of all people!_

A screech in the woods and the sound of breaking twigs made Benjamin jump out of his brooding over Imperial politics.

Von Innow chuckled. “Boars. Can’t you smell them?”

Benjamin sniffed. Now that the captain – Kai, he reminded himself – said it, the wind carried a faint pig-like smell.

“Good to know that they haven't all been hunted down yet!” Von Innow sounded almost enthusiastic. “At the Altenburg estate, that’s where Katharina lives, they always had great boar hunts. They make excellent smoked bacon!”

 _Great! Do you have to remind me of being hungry?_ Benjamin groused in silence. Then he heard another stomach rumble next to his. He chuckled. Von Innow sighed. “It’s just ten miles, Benjamin. Then we’ll be fine.”

“You’ll manage?”

“Have to!” von Innow ground out. “Just promise me one thing.”

“Which would be?”

“We won’t rest. If we lay down, craving sleep in the small hours of the morning, we’ll either freeze to death or end up with a bad fever.” Now von Innow sounded so much a military leader that Benjamin couldn’t even think of him as ‘Kai’. “Therefore, drag me on, and if you’ll have to sing all psalms and kick me.”

All right, that sounded much more like Kai the Heretic …

Benjamin nodded. He had no intention to freeze to death either. “We’ll manage.”

 

***

 

It was a slow walk along the foot of a hill with an open plain at their right. After the sun was down for a while, the birds settled in for the night and it became eerily quiet. Fog rose in the swampy meadows, and the moon made the wafts shine in a whitish light.

Benjamin forced his eyes back on the way. Suddenly, all the ghost stories returned that he had picked up at the inns: of maids who drowned themselves, but returned in their white shifts to catch travellers unaware; of the souls of murdered men who came back to take revenge, but weren’t too picky when it came to their targets. Who knew how many people had found an untimely end in these reeds or in the woods when the armies had marched through?

 _Trust in the Lord, and don’t listen to such old wives’ tales!_ Father Andreas would have reminded him. Easy to say when sitting at the crackling fire in an inn or teaching logic in the seminary! Benjamin was more than grateful for von Innow’s solid weight at his side. But after a moment, said weight made his mind wander to the story of the “Hockauf” – the Hop-on, a story they had told him everywhere in Hessia and Thuringia: of a goblin that hops onto the back of a sinner who’s outside late in the night. And while the Hop-on is small at first, not bigger than a weasel, it grows as the sinner walks on, and finally it becomes so heavy that the sinner will break down and die.

Benjamin sighed aloud, annoyed about himself and his childish fears. It was the devil and hell he should fear, not fairy tales!

“Am I getting too heavy?” his own Hop-on asked and tried to make himself lighter.

“No, it’s just …”

“Well?”

No, he wouldn’t tell the captain that he got spooked by some moonlight and mist. Von Innow would either laugh or weave more eerie yarn to entertain him. To distract the captain, Kai, he changed the topic to a more substantial one:

“Your cousin, the Lady, she won’t mind having a Catholic under her roof, will she?”

“As long as you don’t preach, I don’t think she’ll mind,” von Innow said with confidence. “After all, Jerzy was Catholic. And poor Katharina fancied herself his future wife. She was thirteen or fourteen back then, completely unremarkable but for her freckles, and Jerzy was head over heels in love with her brother. But she never held the whole sodomy issue against us, and that’s what I love her for.”

“And what about her current husband? I suppose there is one, or is she a widow?”

“No, she isn’t. But she might as well be, since her husband left home to become a colonel in Brandenburg’s army, and there he lives with a young mistress: the same old story everywhere.”  Von Innow snorted in open disapproval.

Benjamin didn’t know what to reply. He wondered if he might ask whether that was the truth behind the Itzenplitz’ intimations that the Lady liked her cousin von Innow even more than her own husband. But he remained silent: their walk was anything but a stroll with enough breath to spare for a chat.

Von Innow didn’t seem interested in more conversation either, and considering how talkative the captain could be, it was a clear sign that walking cost him a lot.

So it was a miserable night. There were three more villages on the foot of the hills, but hearing dogs bark and seeing peasants standing watch, they didn’t dare to pass through them. Von Innow didn’t trust the swampy meadows and the fog either, so they stumbled through the woods. Von Innow stepped into brambles several times. Removing the barbs the first time, von Innow had cursed in a way that might have made any guardian angel faint with shame, but some hours later, on the hill above the third village, he sat on the ground, shivering and almost sobbing. Benjamin sat down next to him and took off his shoes and stockings.

“What are you doing?” von Innow asked.

“Perhaps the socks will make a kind of soft shoe if we roll them up and tie them with the garters at your ankles,” Benjamin suggested.

To Benjamin, it said a lot about von Innow’s exhaustion that he didn’t mock, but obeyed. He put the socks on and let Benjamin do the rolling and tying. Finally he stood on three layers of knitted wool. It wouldn’t save him from the worst of the barbs, but he sighed with relief. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Benjamin said, trying not to shudder due to his now naked calves. He wondered in what kind of state of undress they would finally make it to von Innow’s relatives.

Von Innow, however, seemed to feel so much better that he pulled Benjamin in a bear hug and kissed his forehead. “We’ll be fine soon, you’ll see.”

 _Let’s hope so!_ Benjamin embraced him too, rubbing von Innow’s back. He was dog-tired, and he had no idea what hour of the night it was and how many miles they had already made by stumbling up and down the hills. Since the fog stayed in the meadows there was a crescent moon and some stars visible above the leafless trees: at least they hadn’t lost their bearing. Nevertheless, the way felt much longer than just ten miles.

Finally von Innow leant back in Benjamin’s embrace. “Now, soldier, no rest for the wicked, remember?”

Benjamin nodded, not willing to let go of this excuse of a pillow, but knowing that he had to. “When we’re at your cousin’s house, I want to sleep for three days without a break,“ he moaned.

“So do I. And I hope you’ll cling to me then, too.”

“You’ll never give up hope regarding sin, do you?” Benjamin sighed.

“Who talks about sin if all I want is a handsome young lad keeping my belly warm?”

“What if said lad would rather keep your _back_ warm?” Benjamin challenged.

“Oh, that’s fine by me, too.” Von Innow chuckled and stroked Benjamin’s cheek. “Now, what about another mile? After all, our bed stands at the Altenburg, not here.”

The ‘other mile’ took them to the end of the hills. Now there was fog everywhere. Benjamin didn’t like it at all. Hadn’t von Innow mentioned swamps before? But the road – or the dirt track that passed for a road here – was visible after all, for a few steps' distance.

“Will there be any more villages?” The last thing they needed was to run into another pack of angry peasants.

“If I remember correctly, no. The next settlement should be the town, Golzow,” von Innow said in a strained voice. Woollen shoes or not, he had increasing problems with walking. Though ‘shuffling’ was the more honest word for the pace they were making.

Benjamin prayed in silence. For strength and to the Mother of God to lead them safely through the fog. He didn’t want to think about ghosts or hard-working highway men who might want his shoes and clothes. Or about wolves, or the strange sounds he picked up out of the white around them.

He cast a glance to the heavens, but the stars weren’t visible anymore.

‘There you’ve got it!’ his devil spoke up. ‘If you hadn’t hit your brother in Jesus, you could sleep in a bed at Leipzig, and all would be well. But no, you had to run off with your sodomite lover, and see where it took you!’

 _Shut up!_ Benjamin ordered. _If I had stayed at Leipzig I might have died from the plague, or that blasted major and provost would have told them all that I’m a Jesuit. Remember the Protestant clerics who suggested hanging me? That would have been my fate at Leipzig!_

‘Well, well, let’s see then how much time you’ll spend with warming your heretic instead of writing letters to your order,’ the devil sneered. ‘Of course, he’ll be grateful! Allows you to call him by his first name! But what will you become here? His servant, his “companion”?’

 _Oh, shut up, will you!_ Benjamin raged. _All that matters is that we reach that damned Golzow! Perhaps I can leave him there at an inn or in some physician’s care while I seek out and inform his cousin. That would spare him a few miles more. Let’s just hope this Golzow is big enough to have a physician, or an inn!_

Shuffling along, he wondered if Dante had been right with his imaginations about hell. Perhaps there was no burning hot sand waiting for the sodomites, and no fire dripping down onto them. Perhaps there was this endless fog, and cold, and no place to rest and no strength left to sin.

Certainly there would be no bed in some benevolent cousin’s house. No, just the dream of that while you were dragging yourself along, freezing to the bones.

 

***

 

Benjamin had no idea for how long they stumbled through the fog. He kept his eyes trained on the trail of a carriage, praying that it had stayed on the road and reached the city instead of getting lost in the swamp. At first, the way had been all sandy, but now there were wet, soft spots of darker ground mixed with the sand. He started to fear for their lives. He was about to ask von Innow if they shouldn’t rest and wait for sunrise when von Innow raised his head and sniffed. Benjamin sniffed as well: there was the smell of a peat fire.

 _Most Sacred Heart of Jesus have mercy on us!_ Benjamin begged when he could discern a glimpse of orange light in the fog. The last thing they needed now were robbers – or camping soldiers who wanted to make fun of two defenceless travellers.

“Who’s there!” barked a voice when they shuffled closer.

The man who became more visible with every step wore a huge hat and held a musket.

“Don’t shoot!” Benjamin called. “Please, we’re just travellers, and my companion is hurt!”

“Travellers, huh? At this time of the night?”

“We were robbed in the Fläming, and since no peasant would take us in, we just walked on,” von Innow answered.

“Yeah, damned peasants!” The man with the gun spat out. “Now, come over to the fire that we can have a proper look at you.”

The fire didn’t belong to a soldiers’ camp, but to tinkers. There were six carts and some more horses around. Certainly most people slept on the wagons instead on wet ground, but two men dozed at the fire and looked up, when they joined them. The older one was armed with a halberd, the younger one had a sabre next to him, and both they scowled warily at the newcomers. But Benjamin didn’t care whoever they were as long as he and von Innow could warm themselves at the fire.

Von Innow let go of him to hold his hands out to the remains of a campfire. “Thank God!” This time he sounded genuine in his praise like a true Christian.

“Thanks be to God, indeed!” Benjamin hadn’t seen a thing as lovely as this peat fire in a long time, of this he was certain.

The man with the musket chuckled and dropped another chunk of peat into the embers. Sparks flew up and the light grew brighter. “You two look really battered. Where did that happen?”

“At Belzig,” von Innow said, looking up. “The garrison themselves.”

The tinker snorted with laughter. “You travelled through Belzig? You must be mad!”

“Badly informed, I’d say.” Von Innow sounded offended. “Have we reached Golzow yet?”

“Go on a few steps, and you’ll fall into the moat,” the man with the halberd said. He chuckled and had to clear his throat then. “Damned weather. Now, sit down.” He jovially pointed at a log next to the fire. “The town gates are blocked, and they won’t open them before sunrise. That is, if you’re not the duke in disguise.” He laughed at his own poor joke.

“Actually, we’re the Emperor and the Pope, about to conquer Sweden.” With a groan, von Innow sat down.

Their hosts laughed, and the man with the musket returned to his post.

Benjamin sat down next to von Innow, rubbing his hands as the captain did. “Thank you for your hospitality. I can’t express how grateful we are. I wouldn’t believe that there was anything left in this world but fog.”

“It’s all right,” the older of the tinkers raised a hand to stop him. “Where’re you going?”

“Berlin,” von Innow lied. “What about you?”

The tinkers shook their heads, clearly not wanting a passenger on their wagons. “We’ll stay here for some days. Lots of stuff to sell. And then there’s our theatre over there.” With a derisive snort he nodded in the direction of a painted wagon. “They have some new plays up their sleeve. Some crazy English stuff.”

“It’s not crazy, just new!” the younger man almost squeaked with indignation. Turning to Benjamin and von Innow, he proudly announced, “It’s a tragedy! I’m going to play a murdered Danish king’s ghost! Then, an actor, and later, I’ll play a young lady. But she drowns herself when her prince gets mad.”

“Sounds amazing,” Benjamin said to be polite. That didn’t seem to have the edifying quality of a Jesuit theatre play. Von Innow picked at his sock-shoes.

“It is amazing!” the young man beamed. “Much better than all the Life-of-the-Saints or the umpteenth play about a cuckold and his wife! And since the little lady drowns in the middle of the play, I’ll be a nobleman later! But a gravedigger before that.” He looked expectantly at Benjamin. Did he want praise already?

”You seem to be a little short of actors,” Benjamin remarked. Next to him, von Innow chuckled.

“What?” Benjamin turned to him, frowning. There was some mockery coming, he just knew it!

“You might help out and earn us supper,” von Innow suggested. “I’ve heard your ‘school’ is famous for its theatre.”

“Which school? Where?” The young traveller was all ears.

Benjamin thought twice before admitting just “The church school in my hometown. But we did more religious plays, as you can imagine.”

“Oh, I once saw the Jesuits in Cologne!” the young man exclaimed. “That was amazing! They made even angels fly along a rope, and the devil appeared from the ground in cloud of smoke! Did you do something like that?”

Benjamin was certain he would never get rid of this fellow if he admitted that the Jesuits of Mainz did even more amazing plays than the ones in Cologne. “Something like that, yes,” he admitted, trying to play things down. The last thing he wanted to do was to reveal himself as a former Jesuit student. They were on hostile territory, after all. What was von Innow thinking? “On smaller scale. Much smaller.”

“Makes me wonder if you played the devil?” von Innow teased. “Or an angel with a flaming sword?”

“Actually, the last time, I played Sapientia – the personification of _prudence_ , and one of the four cardinal virtues at that!”

If the captain had known any prudence, he would get the hint to be wise and shut up. But it was just Kai von Innow, his very own heretic, and said heretic huffed, snorted and brayed with laughter then.

The tinkers laughed, too, but more about Benjamin’s indignation. He cuffed von Innow in the ribs. “It’s not that funny!”

“You … in a gown … imp… impersonating prudence!”

“Yes, you can laugh!” Benjamin knew he would never hear the end of this. He sighed dramatically and looked at his hosts. “He’s just a philistine, forgive him, gentlemen. If I had played a horse he would clap and call it art!”

“I’m not …” von Innow choked and started to cough hard.

Benjamin patted his back. _Serves you right!_

While Benjamin tended to a spluttering von Innow, the younger tinker went to the wagons. He returned with a heavy blanket and gave it to Benjamin.

“What are you doing?” the older man muttered.

“It’s no gift,” the young one protested. “I just borrow them a horse blanket to keep them warm till morning.”

“Thank you!” Benjamin put the blanket around himself and von Innow. It didn’t just smell of horse, it stank, but it kept their backs safe from the damp night air.

“… Thanks,” von Innow rasped, still coughing on. When he was better he leant against Benjamin and closed his eyes. “Sapientia,” he whispered with a chuckle. “I don’t believe it.” Moments later he started to snore.

Great! Benjamin put an arm around von Innow’s back so the man wouldn’t slump and topple backwards in his sleep. The theatre-loving tinker sat down at his other side and started to tell him the whole play. It was full of madness and suicide and murder, with no edifying end at all. Benjamin was certain it would be a disaster – long forgotten the very next year.

# Chapter 39

The very next morning, Benjamin was surprised that he had slept – or rather dozed – at all. But when he came to, there were women around, stoking the fire for a kettle. He stirred, noticing a solid weight on his shoulders. Von Innow had put an arm around him and smiled at him, looking dog-tired himself. Benjamin didn’t know when this shift in their sleeping arrangement had occurred. But he was happy for every minute.

“Now, my Sapientia,” von Innow started.

“Never ever call me that or I’ll return to Mainz right now!” Benjamin groused.

“It would be wise, however, if you got up,” von Innow said, and he added with a whisper, “I have to piss. Hurry.”

 _Great!_ Benjamin pulled himself up. Every single bone hurt and he was shivering with cold despite the blanket. He had to support von Innow like last night, even more so: Von Innow was barely able to walk at all.

“Damn!” von Innow groaned, hissing with pain. “Just have to get into it; I’m not used anymore to travelling on foot.”

 _If you ever were._ Benjamin wondered when the captain had ever travelled that way. Luckily, the tinkers had been right last night when they claimed that the moat of Golzow was just a few steps away. Relieving himself into the murky water, Benjamin took a look around: a solid town wall, a closed gate, and the mist in the east was getting pink. Sunrise. He wondered if he would ever feel warm again.

When they returned to the fire, they had to tell their story again: how two clueless travellers had gone to Belzig on horseback and left it half-naked on foot. The sympathy expressed was small, but when it came to breakfast, they were given a bowl of broth. With eyes extra sharp due to hunger Benjamin noticed that the cook ladled out chunks of vegetable for her fellows, but when he returned his emptied bowl with many thanks, she put it down on the ground instead of refilling it.

He looked at von Innow who still sipped from his bowl, taking his time to make to most of the food. Putting down his bowl, von Innow nodded at him with a lopsided smile. “Don’t worry. We’ll be fine soon.”

Benjamin nodded, feeling too miserable to believe that anymore. He felt like he was coming down with a fever.

‘Now don’t let yourself go!’ his devil admonished, but with not much vigour. ‘His relatives live somewhere around here! Find them already!’

 _Right.!_ “What if you stayed here with them and I’ll go and tell your cousin where to pick you up?” Benjamin suggested in a low voice.

“That would be a kindness.” Von Innow looked down at his feet with a heartfelt sigh. “It isn’t far.” And then he began to explain.

 

***

 

Alone on the road north of Golzow, Benjamin felt more than weird. He trusted the tinkers; they would let von Innow stay with them when they went into the town for the market. On one hand, Benjamin was glad that he didn't have to drag the man along. But on the other hand, he missed his company, the mere presence of his heretic.

He forced himself to stride on faster. ‘Two miles or so, then there’s a cross way with a boulder. Take the dirt road to the right, and don’t wonder: they don’t maintain the track in the hope of deterring marauders. Not that it’ll help,’ von Innow had said.

And there was a boulder, and a crossway. And a single rider cantering through the fields.

“Hey you!” Benjamin hailed. “Over here!”

The rider almost ran him over and drew his sword. “What do you want, peasant!”

This from a freckled milksop of perhaps fourteen years!

Benjamin crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Good morning to you as well, young man! Is this the way to the Altenburg estate? I have news for the Lady von Altenburg.”

“And what news would that be?” the boy puffed himself up and pointed his sword at Benjamin.

“Captain Kai von Innow sends his regards. He is at Golzow. He’s hurt, he can’t walk, and it would be great if the Lady sent a wagon to pick him up.”

Now the lad gaped at him. “Uncle Kai?” He sheathed his sword. “You go back and tell him we’ll come! I’ll get the wagon!” With that he turned the horse and raced back at break-neck speed.

“I go back … Just you wait, lad! I’m not one of your ‘peasants’!” Benjamin went to the boulder and slumped against the rock. After resting for a moment, his mood improved. _Lord, thank you, that it was the right one: a caring nephew of sorts and not the offspring of the feuding neighbours!_

He remembered von Innow’s tale about his cousin as a young girl – ‘completely unremarkable but for her freckles’ – and he smiled: like mother, like son. _And perhaps I should have told him to bring some breeches …_

‘And perhaps you should go back, for he’ll worry for you, and he’ll be happy to hear that you met his runt of a nephew!’ Benjamin’s devil piped up.

 _Right_. Benjamin squared his shoulders. After all, he wasn’t the one with the ruined knee and feet full of blisters and bramble cuts. In the thinning fog he could discern the steeple of Golzow. _Back, then,_ he thought with a sigh. _Hell is probably walking and walking and never reaching any goal promised, and getting sore feet because you gave your socks to another inmate for whatever reason …_

He started moving.

 

***

 

A glance back at the town gate of Golzow showed no carriage yet. Benjamin shrugged. What did he know about the distance to the estate? Or whether the lady had risen at all this time of the morning? How much time it would take them to get the horses into the tack?

A grumpy town guard stopped Benjamin’s musings by blocking his way: “What do you want?”

 _Dear Lord, not another one of that ilk!_ Benjamin was reminded at the scene at Halle.

“Well,” he said, “I heard that a very famous theatre company will be in town today, with a new play of utmost beauty, heart wrenching drama, terrible ghosts, and some barbs against the King of Denmark. Will you please let me pass to watch it?”

The guard blinked at him several times, made a disgusted face, and let him pass.

“The peasants get weirder every day.” Benjamin heard him grumble behind his back. Grinning, he headed to the market place where the tinkers had planned to set up their stage.

He spotted the painted wagon soon, and there was already a dais of boards. The women hung up painted sheets, showing the silhouette of a castle, and a girl pinned a paper sun onto the fabric. Some idlers gathered, and one of them shouted at the women, “Now sing already!”

On the wagon next to the stage, von Innow sat huddled under the blanket, looking miserable. When he noticed Benjamin, his sad stare into empty space was replaced by concern. “You’re back early!”

Benjamin nodded. “At the crossway with the boulder, I was fortunate to run into a nephew of yours. Some boy without a beard but lots of freckles. He almost cut off my nose with his sword and called me a peasant, but hearing about his poor uncle he rode home at lightning speed.”

Von Innow smiled with relief. “Sounds like Georg.” From under the blanket he produced an apple and gave it to Benjamin. “Here. For your efforts.”

“Where did you get it?” Benjamin rubbed reverently at the fruit to make it shine.

“There seems to be truth in the saying ‘Young soldiers make old beggars’,” von Innow sighed and pointed with his thumb at a woman who sold apples from a pannier. “I didn’t ask, she just gave me one, telling me to pray for her on Sunday.” The haunted look was back on his face.

“Certainly you should do that,” Benjamin bit into the apple with relish. But seeing his heretic looking even more distressed, he returned the half-eaten apple to von Innow. “Here, after that breakfast you must be hungry, too.”

“Thank you.”

On the stage, one of the women announced their play, but when the lazybones shouted in chorus that she should sing, she started with a bawdy song about a priest and a flock of nuns, and the audience cheered.

Benjamin rolled his eyes and turned his face away from this godless display, because the singer put her hands on her hips and started to dance as well. Taking in the tiny town’s market and the gate of a castle, he suddenly spotted von Innow’s nephew on the other side of the market place. The boy stood in the stirrups and craned his neck. Benjamin climbed onto the wagon and waved until the young man noticed him.

He waved back with his hat. And when he rode into the market place, a carriage pulled by two frothing horses was following him.

“Your escort arrived!” Benjamin jumped from the wagon and gave von Innow a deep bow as if he were playing a courtier on stage.

Von Innow threw the apple stem at his head.

 

***

 

“Kai! Oh my God!” A haggard woman in a black dress jumped from the carriage. The one glimpse Benjamin saw of her face showed careworn features. Her once sandy blond hair was shot through with even more grey than von Innow’s.

“What on earth happened to you?” But before von Innow could explain she hugged him and slapped his back with the vigour of a carter patting his prize horse. Von Innow coughed and hugged her back, but in a much more civil matter, his uncivilized appearance notwithstanding.

“Fortuna stopped smiling at me recently, especially at Belzig,” he answered. His features relaxed, and he started smiling in a way that showed Benjamin that the captain was at home now, and the time of sorrows was over. A glance at the young Georg von Altenburg showed the boy beet-red with embarrassment. Benjamin was pleased to see the little git squirm.

The crowd in front of the stage chose to cheer at the display next to it: “Kiss her already!”, “What do you want with this beggar, Lady, take me instead!”

But the Lady pulled von Innow to her carriage, and von Innow summoned Benjamin to follow. He had barely time to wave the tinkers goodbye.

As soon as they sat in the carriage and the horses pulled on, Lady Katharina piled blankets upon her cousin. “I don’t believe it! Three days ago I told Klaus to watch out for you in Leipzig, and now you’re here!” From a basket, she took a flask and uncorked it. The smell of schnapps wafted towards Benjamin.

“We met him at Dessau,” von Innow said. To Benjamin he explained: “The Itzenplitz.”  Then he took a long swig from the offered flask.

Benjamin nodded. Von Innow gave Benjamin the flask. To his cousin he said with aplomb, “Kathrin, may I introduce Benjamin Kenneberg, a young scholar I stole from the Pope himself. “

Benjamin rolled his eyes, and the Lady scoffed.

“No seriously,” von Innow assured. “I saved him from ending up a Jesuit priest. In return he saved my life twice: once with a pistol and last night with preaching.” Von Innow patted Benjamin’s knee. “He’s a good lad, I swear. Just don’t discuss religion with him, and it’s a pleasure to have him around.”

Lady Katharina nodded at Benjamin who hurried to sketch a bow. With a forced smile, she said, “I don’t discuss religion these days, I have worse worries.”

“What happened?” von Innow asked, frowning.

“Wilhelm, that stupid little … idiot!” she exclaimed and held out her hand for the flask. Benjamin handed it over, and she took a swig from it, like a seasoned soldier at first, but then she coughed and dried her eyes. “My other son,” she told Benjamin in an excusing tone of voice, but then she addressed von Innow. “He wrote from Paris. Instead of finishing his foreign tour, he enlisted in some royal musketeers regiment or such! Why in France of all places! And why musketeers? He’s a nobleman, confound it! If he’s so eager to get killed, he could join the cavalry like you all did!”

Von Innow ducked his head a little. “France isn’t at war yet, as far as I know. If he wants to make a career for himself, a royal regiment isn’t the worst place to start.”

“And who sent us a letter after half a year to tell us that Achim got shot? You, from some Polish Life Regiment!”

Von Innow hung his head. There was nothing left of his former relief. Benjamin put his hand on von Innow’s and frowned furiously at the Lady. She didn’t look at him, however, but rubbed at her eyes. After several deep breaths she said, “I’m sorry.”

“No offence taken,” von Innow mumbled, looking longingly at the brandy. But the lady took another swig and put the flask back into the basket. To Benjamin’s delight, she took bread and a smoked sausage from it. Cutting chunks from both, she said, “I’ll give you horses and everything necessary, and for that you’ll go to Paris and get my son back.”

“Katharina, that is,” von Innow started, but the lady pointed with her knife at him.

“Don’t give me that shit about signed enrolment lists and honour and such as my husband and Klaus did. I don’t care if it’s a ‘shame he won’t ever live down’ to get rescued from his folly by his mother!” She threw the knife back into the basket and handed her cousin breakfast on a properly folded napkin.

“Thanks,” von Innow murmured. Benjamin was amazed to see that von Innow didn’t even try to kick against her claim. On the contrary, the captain managed to look like a kicked puppy when he said, “But I need some days' rest to cure my knee. I’m hardly able to walk, and riding hurts like hell, too.”

The Lady nodded. “Of course.” Not looking at her cousin, she gave Benjamin generous portions of sausage and bread before she helped herself.

“Thank you very much, Madam.” Benjamin dug in, but kept his eyes on his heretic and his cousin. Somehow from von Innow’s tales he had expected an industrious, but quiet little housewife, not a person who ordered officers around at knife-point.

 

***

 

Lady Katharina was used to ordering people around like a seasoned strategist. As soon as they reached the estate – and as its name said it was an old stronghold (but in dire need of repair) – there was hot soup on the table together with a huge jug of beer, while Lady Katharina make sure that the maids were heating water for a bath and had prepared a guest room. Young Georg was ordered onto a fresh horse and up to the city of Brandenburg to make an appointment with a surgeon: “But I want the Master Hausmann himself here, not one of his apprentices!”

The boy ran. Benjamin wondered if taking orders in a musketeer regiment would feel any different.

“You’ll do that? Going to Paris?” He asked between two spoonfuls of a rich pea soup.

Von Innow nodded. “That’s much better than asking my brother Konrad for money. He owes me, it always was custom in our family that the one who inherited the land had to support his siblings when they ran out of luck. But he always behaves if I were not worth the dirt under his shoes. Therefore, ...” He cast a glance towards the door. “I had just hoped for some quiet weeks, a quiet winter behind the oven, to be honest.”

“No rest for the wicked, remember?” Benjamin winked at him, and Lady Katharina returned.

“We’ve got your room and a bath ready,” she told von Innow. To Benjamin she said, “I don’t know about your station in my cousin’s life, but I expect some other guests today, so you’ll have to share a room. There’s a servant chamber adjoined, in case you don’t share a bed.”

Benjamin gaped at her bluntness. What kind of test was that? “I’ll take that chamber, thank you very much,” he managed to get out.

Thankfully the Lady ignored his embarrassment and wandered off to give more orders. Von Innow didn’t comment, but busied himself with a second helping of the soup.

 

***

 

As soon as von Innow pushed his plate away, two manservants ushered them up the stairs into a room with a four-poster bed and a wooden tub full of steaming water. While von Innow hurried to undress and to get into the bath, Benjamin hesitated to drop his breeches in front of strangers, even if they were servants of the house and had introduced themselves as Hans, who was a portly older man, and Martin, a slim lad of Benjamin’s age.

“Now come on,” von Innow drawled from the tub. “We don’t want any boisterous army lice overpowering the domestic livestock, do we?”

Benjamin rolled his eyes and slipped into the water as fast as possible. Martin carried their clothes away to be washed immediately, while the older servant poured water over von Innow’s head and started to lather his hair, chatting about the things that happened on the estate since the captain’s last visit: Master Wilhelm’s stay in Paris was the main event, and Benjamin didn’t care about war contributions, the harvest and the biggest carp ever caught.

He picked at the bandage around his arm when it was soaked completely. The linen came off and revealed a nicely healing wound. Both surgeons had done a good job preventing it from festering. Benjamin sighed nevertheless. The scar would stay and remind him of the redcoats: no honourable battle wound at all.

 _Don’t think of them!_ he told himself sternly and tried to concentrate on the positive: the men who had helped him: the cavalry men, who called the priests; Father Michael, whom Benjamin missed dearly; and the surgeons – both the old surgeon at Lützen and Master Rudolf. Which reminded him of the bath in Weissenfels when a completely drunk von Innow wanted to share his tub. Now they did share a bath, and Benjamin wasn’t afraid of the captain anymore. He cast a glance at von Innow, wondering if he was offended by Benjamin’s claim to his own bed. But he had said it for the Lady’s sake, and at the moment von Innow was busy with rubbing soap from his eyes and cursing the sting.

When Hans put down the soap and rinsed von Innow’s hair, Benjamin started to lather himself. Rubbing soap onto his cheeks, he wondered if he could get a shave as well. His neck was scratchy with stubble too, and the cloth he used to rinse himself came off with the colour of Brandenburg’s dirt tracks twice.

After drowning every boisterous army louse possibly present and shaving to boot, the servants announced that they had to carry the bath away or the bed linens would get damp due to all the steam.

Though it was just noon, Benjamin considered a few hours sleep after the bath a great idea. Of course it was a sin to laze around during the hours of the day, but he hadn’t had any sleep last night. And what could he do in Lady Katharina’s house anyway? Certainly she would find some orders to give him, but it didn't have to happen right now.

He hurried to dry himself, surprising the helpful Martin by doing so. When Benjamin dared look up, the young man was holding out a nightshirt and a nightcap to him.

Wrapped in a blanket, Benjamin was led through a side entrance into a small room next to von Innow’s. It held a bed and a chest for clothing. The bed had no canopy, but looked really good: no woollen blankets here, but white linen. Benjamin slid under a pre-heated duvet and let his head drop onto a thick pillow. Bliss.

“Thank you,” he said to Martin.

“You’re welcome,” the young man answered with a friendly grin and left with the bath blanket.

Benjamin closed his eyes, intent on enjoying every minute in this fabulous bed. From the master bedroom he heard steps and the sloshing of water that had to be carried downstairs as it had been brought, bucket by bucket. Not his task, however. Benjamin felt slightly guilty that he made other people work for him; in all his years in the college it had been the other way round.

But the bed was really nice, Benjamin snuggled into the pillow. He couldn’t believe his luck. After all, they had made it to von Innow’s cousin! Benjamin thanked the Mother of God for her mercy. _We didn’t really deserve it, sinners as we are, but thank you very much, indeed! Last night, I wouldn’t believe that we would make it, that this house really existed, and yet it does, even if our stay here will be limited … Paris ... We could travel via Mainz, I could sort things out with the patres in person …_

But he would cherish his stay here as long as it lasted! He had to smile at the idea of von Innow sitting by the oven all winter long. The captain would be bored out of his skull. Certainly the man would be up and riding and hunting as soon as he could walk again!

 _If he hasn’t ruined his knee completely by walking last night …_ Benjamin frowned in sorrow. Certainly von Innow would get bitter if he had nothing to do but sit behind an oven and bake apples. Von Innow wasn’t the type who could busy himself with studies, not with his history.

 _Dear Mother of God,_ Benjamin resumed praying. _Please let him recover completely. He is a sinner, but he doesn’t deserve to be crippled! And if he goes to France, he might enlist there himself, and then he’d serve at least in a Catholic army! All right, that Cardinal Richelieu is the Emperor’s foe with a vengeance, but France belongs to your church after all! Wouldn’t that be great?_

‘Now what do you do? Pestering Our Lady in behalf of your sodomite friend?’ Suddenly Benjamin’s devil was back.

_Oh, go away, will you!_

Benjamin hid deeply in his pillow. His devil had always had a wicked way to catch him out in bed. Examining his conscience, Benjamin had to admit that, yes, he would pray for von Innow, that he wanted the man well and happy. That he even longed to hug him right now.

‘Hug him, huh? Liar! Why don’t you admit that you lust for him?’

 _I don’t! Not that way!_ But the thought of snuggling up to von Innow made him sigh with longing. Just lying together, sharing body heat and feeling cherished … That had been the worst about joining the college: the ban on sharing a bed. Benjamin had been used to sharing a bed with three siblings, and suddenly he was alone. In a room full of boys of all ages, but alone and cold under his blanket.

_If I just could share his bed, not to sin, just …_

Embarrassingly, his flesh was also looking forward to joining the sinner. It stirred at the mere idea of snuggle against von Innow. Benjamin heaved a frustrated sigh.

Well, his flesh was weak; there would be sinning.

He’d better be grateful that the servants were still coming and going. He couldn’t trust himself in matters of chastity.

But eventually, the servants lugged out the wooden tub with “heave ho” and wished von Innow a good rest.

Benjamin listened to their retreating steps and the door closing. They didn’t return this time.

‘Now you can go,’ the devil said. Benjamin imagined him smirking.

_Go to hell!_

But the longer he thought about it, the more tempting the idea got.

Pushing himself up to his elbow, Benjamin asked, “Captain?”

There was a grunt from the other room. Was von Innow already snoring?

“I wonder, if you didn’t mind, I mean …” Benjamin bit his lower lip and cursed himself.

‘Now tell him already that you want to crawl into his bed!’ the devil sneered.

No answer.

_Either he's asleep or he was offended that I wouldn’t admit ‘my station’ in his life …_

Benjamin worried his lower lip. _Surely he is sleeping!_

He took his pillow and the duvet and padded to the door to von Innow’s room.

The man was sleeping, his snoring muffled by the big bed’s curtains. Carefully, Benjamin lifted a curtain and glanced down at von Innow’s peaceful face. He looked exhausted with dark shadows under his eyes, but he also looked clean and shaven, and Benjamin wanted to run a hand over von Innow’s cheek.

‘But of course you don’t want to sin!’ the devil sneered.

_Shut up, and get lost!_

Benjamin pushed the curtain back, trying not to wake von Innow. He would just slip under the duvet and warm his heretic’s back. Carefully he laid his duvet onto von Innow’s. That made von Innow wake up with a start. “What …” He jumped, lifting a hand as if he were expecting a blow or wanted to grab a weapon that wasn’t there.

“Easy, it’s only me,” Benjamin said rather sheepishly, hugging his pillow against his belly.

Von Innow sagged back with an exasperated sigh.

“I just wanted to …” Benjamin shrugged uneasily. “Well, last night you wanted your back warmed.”

Von Innow’s frown became a tired grin. “Ah, yes, I remember. What are you waiting for?” He held the blanket open for Benjamin.

Benjamin dropped his pillow next to the smirking sinner and crawled into the bed. He was careful not to kick von Innow in his bad knee or poke him otherwise. But before he could lie down properly he was grabbed and pulled into a bear hug. Von Innow smacked a kiss onto Benjamin’s cheek and pressed his face against Benjamin’s neck then.

“We’ve made it! Thank God above!”

Benjamin couldn’t help but chuckle and hugged von Innow too. “You’re one to praise the Lord in such a situation!”

“Aw, Benjamin, no homilies now,” von Innow moaned and yawned aloud then. “Just be a good boy, warm my back, my belly, whatever you want, and when we’ll wake up and you feel like sinning again, just do. I’m looking forward to it.”

Benjamin scoffed and kissed von Innow’s brow. “I’ll bet you are.”

When von Innow relaxed in his arms and started to snore again a few minutes later, Benjamin felt slightly disappointed, but also relieved. He had his arms full of his favourite heretic without forfeiting his soul.

 _See?_ he told his devil. _I can make it without challenging the Lord too boldly!_

‘See how long you’ll endure!’ the devil talked right back.

 _Go to hell already!_ Benjamin scowled. To make his point, he kissed the sleeping von Innow again.

‘You wish!’ the devil sneered. ‘Let’s see how long you’ll cope with him, your “Fortuna”. Sooner or later you’ll grovel before the patres, even before Bruckmann, begging to take you back. I’ll bet you!’

 _I wouldn’t bet on that!_ Benjamin hugged his heretic tight. _Not at all!_

# Chapter 40 – an epilogue of sorts

On 26th of July anno Domini 1646, Father Johannes Bruckmann encrypted another letter. Actually, this letter didn’t need a secret code, but out of habit he used one. In short, his letter said, “The courier who was supposed to have arrived last week was robbed and murdered by the Hessian army that roams Westphalia at the moment, please send the instructions again.”

Since he wrote to the Emperor’s court, he went on at great length like the court secretaries did. So he wrote about the troubles of peace negotiations taking place in the middle of a war zone. This month, the Hessians and the Swedes were on top again, and accordingly their claims in the negotiations had become outrageous – not to mention their allies, the French, who made him cringe in anger every time he had to deal with these fops. They were sent to negotiate peace with both Spain and the Empire, but they didn’t do anything useful, but quarrelled all the time within their own delegation!

Oh, right! When the shouting and gun salutes started, Father Bruckmann was reminded that today the French wouldn’t even pretend to negotiate at all, because their head negotiator, Henri d’Orleans, Duke de Longueville, was visited by his wife.

Great! As if the town of Münster wasn’t already overcrowded enough! One might think the houses would burst with all the diplomats and their staff. A lady of such station would be trailed by an entourage of a least one hundred people more who needed food and quarter and stables for more than a hundred horses.

Father Bruckmann folded and sealed his letter. Now he had to find a courier, and if the man was fast and the post stations weren’t robbed of their mounts, he could expect his answer from Vienna in nineteen days.

The door of his office banged open and into the room jumped no courier, but Count Arnold, a distant nephew of the Imperial head negotiator, Count Trauttmannsdorff: “The Duchess de Longueville arrived!”

“So what?” Father Bruckmann squinted at the intruder. He couldn’t stand Count Arnold. The young nobleman was here to learn diplomacy, but the only real interest he showed was directed at the strong Westphalian beer and the daughters of the town.

“I wrote a poem for her!” the youth announced, waved a sheet of paper about and unleashed a flood of bad hexameters then, praising in great detail the beauty of a lady he had never seen in person.

Though he shalt not kill, Father Bruckmann was tempted to throttle this member of their delegation. He had no idea why that milksop had latched on to him of all people, but Count Arnold turned up in his office on an almost daily basis. Probably because Father Bruckmann did the encrypted correspondence, was chained to his desk most of the time and couldn’t flee from Arnold’s antics.

Finally the assault on poetry stopped, and the youth looked expectantly at him.

“First, you might want to check the metre, especially in line four, six and the following,” Father Bruckmann said sourly. “Second, the Duchess is married – to the head of the French delegation as you know very well.”

“Of course I know Duke Henri!” Count Arnold puffed himself up.

“That’s not the point! The point is that you will _not_ write lines about a married woman’s bosom! Especially _not_ if the lady in question is said to have lots of admirers …”

“I’m one of them!” Count Arnold squared his scrawny shoulders.

“… and said admirers are known to be experienced duellists who never miss one of their sword fighting lessons over drinking beer and flirting with maids at the inns!”

Count Arnold scowled, first at the priest, then at his lines. “So you’d think it wiser if I didn’t read this poem to her at the reception tonight?”

“Dear Lord, have mercy upon us!” Father Bruckmann hit the table top with the flat of his hand. “Spare us a major diplomatic incident! Keep your mouth shut and yourself in the background, will you!”

Seeing Arnold’s downcast mien, he added in a friendlier voice, “And do yourself the favour and learn to write correct hexameters if you want to impress the ladies. It might ruin the mood if they started to giggle due to the praise of their ‘snohow-white complehexion’.”

Count Arnold nodded. “You know what, Father? I’ll write her a letter in prose!” With that he turned and strode away full of purpose.

Father Bruckmann sighed. Dear Lord, have mercy, lend me patience, and strike this brat with lightning! Preferably this afternoon.

 

***

 

There had been no lightning during the day, and in the evening the Imperial delegation entered the crowded hall in which the Duke de Longueville held a reception in honour of his wife. Father Bruckmann was puzzled at seeing the elderly Duke amidst of two lovely young ladies.

A whispered request to the grand marshal, and they were informed that the lady at the Duke’s left was his daughter from his first marriage, and the woman at his right was his wife, Duchess Anne-Geneviève de Bourbon-Condé – who looked almost the same age as her stepdaughter.

 

 

(Anne-Geneviève de Bourbon-Condé, Duchesse of Longueville; unknown painter, 17th century)

 

Count Arnold had been right insofar as Duchess Anne-Geneviève was beautiful, and her bosom was a sight to behold. Father Bruckmann couldn’t stop frowning at the lack of a neck-kerchief. But he was frowning from afar because at the moment, Cardinal Fabio Chigi was chatting with the lady. The Cardinal had been sent by the Pope to mediate the peace talks between the delegates of the Most Catholic King of Spain and of the Most Christian King of France and the delegates of the Holy Roman Empire respectively. Father Bruckmann didn’t like the Cardinal: Chigi was a busybody who kicked everybody’s ass to go on with the peace talks and not to wait out if one’s army couldn’t gain another square mile of devastated land.

The Spanish delegation was present as well as the Portuguese, who – under the wing of the French – wanted their insurrection against the Spaniards recognized. At the moment, the diplomats were talking amiably with each other, and Father Bruckmann suspected that they were intent on making good use of the hundred wagon loads of French wine the Duke de Longueville had sent to Münster before he was willing to travel to the Westphalian countryside himself. Tonight, Count Peñaranda seemed to be in a rare good mood, cracking jokes about the horrible German weather and food instead of whining.

The Dutch frowned at the laughter from the Spanish circle, but they relaxed when a trumpet call announced the Younger Oxenstierna, the head of the Swedish delegates, and his entourage. Like the diplomats of the German Protestant estates, the Swedes resided in Osnabrück, half a day’s ride away. But obvious curiosity had led the son of the Swedish Chancellor into the residence of his French allies, and Johan Oxenstierna started to fawn over the ladies right away.

Add most of the delegates from the German Catholic estates and foreign diplomats, and the hall was crammed to the brim. Father Bruckmann felt hot and so uncomfortable in the crush that he was tempted to leave. He would have left, if it hadn’t been for Count Arnold and the follies the boy might think up to draw the ladies’ attention to himself.

Finally, the Imperial delegation was admitted by the Duke, and Count Trauttmannsdorff did his bow and scrape. Bruckmann stayed in the background, staring daggers at Count Arnold who looked impressed by all the French noblemen and the number of officers and guards behind them.

After a long and rehearsed welcome speech, Count Trauttmannsdorff asked in a more informal voice, “I hope you had a safe journey, Madame?” As if he really cared for the wife of the main enemy! Father Bruckmann frowned disapprovingly.

“Oh, yes, thank you,” the Duchess answered with a smile. “After all, my dear husband sent some of his own cavalry regiment to guard our train, and Colonel d’Inneau and his lieutenant made sure that no-one came close …” With an indignant flick of her fan she pointed at a very tall officer in the background. “… be it a highway man or the most tender-hearted admirer with the best intentions.”

The scorned-at colonel had iron grey hair and a smashed nose. He raised his glass in toast to the Duchess. His lopsided smile looked slightly mocking, though.

Father Bruckmann was about to turn and give Count Arnold a meaningful glare when he noticed the lieutenant staring at him. Father Bruckmann squinted. Long days and half nights at the desk had damaged his eyesight more than he liked to admit. But that French officer was already sauntering towards him.

The man was dressed in red and black like the devil himself – and according to the latest French fashion, an extra long lock of his reddish hair hung down over the left side of his collar. Father Bruckmann thought that he had to know this face from somewhere: strong brows, a deep frown line between them, a plump nose and a witch mark high on the right cheek. He wondered if he had been robbed by this Frenchman. From where else would he know a French officer? But then the man started to drawl in Mainzian dialect, “Well, if that isn’t Johannes Bruckmann … Why the civilian clothes? Are you in disguise, Father, or did the order eventually give you the boot for your lack of compassion?”

Bruckmann gasped for air, suddenly realizing who he was facing: “Kenneberg!”

“The very same.” The man put his hands on his hips, the left one close to the hilt of his rapier. “So, you’re part of the Emperor’s negotiators, I take it?”

“And you went to France. How fitting,” Father Bruckmann spat. “You were always a traitor.”

“Now you’re one to talk! Who refused me help back then in Leipzig?” For a moment, Kenneberg looked really upset.

 

 

 

But then he grinned, and said in an amiable voice, “But ironically enough, I have to thank you. No, really! It took me half a decade to come to terms with it, but being a lieutenant-colonel isn’t so bad either.” And with a cocky grin he turned his back to Bruckmann and returned to his fellow officers.

Father Bruckmann felt sick. Benjamin Kenneberg. How long ago had that been? After the great battle at Lützen, in the November of the year of Our Lord 1632 – almost 14 years ago. Now that he thought about the incident, the tall colonel who looked at him seemed familiar, too: a Swedish officer who had brought Kenneberg to their hospital and demanded a ransom of four thalers …

Fortunately, another French nobleman addressed the colonel, and the man turned his wary look away from Bruckmann.

Bad weeds grew tall, indeed, and Bruckmann doubted the Lord’s justice (again). It didn’t help either that Count Arnold tugged at his sleeve, pointed at Kenneberg and asked eagerly, “Who’s that?”

“A former schoolmate,” Father Bruckmann said. “Stay away from him, he sides with heretics.” With that he left Count Arnold to his own devices. He just wanted to run home, drink himself into a stupor and forget the nasty little bastard, who had made his life hell since the day Kenneberg gave Bruckmann’s friend and lover Thomas away to the patres.

 

***

 

The reception lasted well into the night. When Colonel d’Inneau and Lieutenant-Colonel Kenneberg finally made it to the room assigned to them, a very grumpy captain of the Duke’s guard had to haggle with a local woman over her pay for only half the night. Thus they had to share the bed only with the captain and his two hunting dogs. “The dogs stay!” the officer insisted in a petulant voice. “Someone has to warm my feet after all!”

With the captain’s servants and the two men in Benjamin’s and von Innow’s service, finally seven people settled into the tiny room: three in a bed, and four on pallets. There was almost no room left to get to the door, and no way to open it because Benjamin’s servant Martin blocked it.

The bed was lumpy and narrow, and when Benjamin stretched his legs, he touched a dog’s claws and the beast growled. _Great!_

Von Innow chuckled. Like a good traveller, he lay on his back and had his hands on the blanket. But as soon as Captain Dumont had snuffed out the candle, von Innow turned, complaining loudly: “Damn, my backbone’s getting too old for such short beds!”

Benjamin grinned. The next moment, Kai’s arms sneaked around him, and von Innow huddled against him in a very familiar way. Benjamin felt his stomach stroked, and that was nice, because he had stuffed himself with the fine food more than was wise.

“That man within the Imperial delegation you talked to,” von Innow asked in a concerned voice. “Who was that?”

“Father Bruckmann,” Benjamin said. “You remember the priest who refused to pay ransom for me, back in Leipzig?”

Von Innow chuckled. “You punched him in the nose.”

“The very same. Obviously he made quite the career for himself to turn up here.”

“As did you.”

Benjamin felt von Innow’s lips against the nape of his neck. Over the years they had gained much experience in kissing without making a sound. He snuggled back into Kai’s lap to tease his lover a little – after all, with Captain Dumont and his servants present, they could not sin.

Their own servants suffered in the same quarter – von Innow had chosen them for that, so they wouldn’t mind hearing them sin. Sharing a room with strangers, however, meant they all had to behave.

But von Innow’s mind was on duty, anyway, and not on sodomy. “This Bruckmann, would he cause you trouble?”

Benjamin shrugged. “I don’t know. After all these years? I assume he’s found somebody else to harass. And besides, we’ll be out of town soon, now that the Duke’s guard have taken over. Honestly it’s a pity. I was curious to see a little bit of the congress. The whole of Europe is here.”

“The English aren’t present, nor the Russians or the Turks. And the Danes left two years ago, after the Swedes drowned their fleet,” Captain Dumont informed them unbidden.

“Ah, well,” von Innow said. With a chuckle he added, “If you ask the duchess sweetly enough, I’ll bet she’ll let you stay a little longer.”

“Heaven forbid!” Benjamin moaned.

Kai chuckled. Benjamin was tempted to cuff him in the ribs.

“I take it the journey with the young ladies was a pleasurable one?” Dumont quipped.

Kai snorted. “It sounded pleasurable enough when we got the order, but next time I rather guard a bag full of fleas than two young duchesses! After all, fleas don’t demand to be told how lovely they are three times a day while behaving like spoilt children and threatening to blacken your name when meeting the duke. If we had catered to the ladies’ whims we would still be in France or had brought every poetry-writing fop with them who happened to live along the way.”

Dumont chuckled. “Thank you for the warning.”

“You’re welcome,” Kai said with a yawn and pressed his face in Benjamin’s hair. A few moments, and he was asleep.

Benjamin envied him for his ability to fall asleep in an instant. He lay awake for quite some time, pondering about meeting his former schoolmate. What had become of his other classmates? Of Father Andreas and the other patres? Where would he be himself now if he had stayed with the Jesuits? A member of the Imperial delegation like Bruckmann? Back in Mainz, teaching at the college? Making a career in Rome, or being a missionary overseas? Or just shot, slain and rotted by the road side a long time ago?

He covered von Innow’s hands with his own. Such thoughts were moot. He was with Kai, he was an officer of the French army, and it had to suffice. Only the Lord knew their future. And judging from the last years, for some reason they were still in the Lord’s favour, their sin notwithstanding.

 

 

*** The End ***

 

 

# Author’s Notes

**These were the Notes when I posted this story as a WIP on LJ**

**Author:** The Little Owl (grinning_little_owl at yahoo dot de)

  
 **Category:** Star Wars TPM slash fanfic, Qui/Obi, Alternate Reality, Action/Adventure, Drama.  
  
 **Summary** : The Jesuits are the Soldiers of the Lord, guardians of the Catholic belief in the Empire. But sometimes it’s not easy to be a good soldier of the Lord, especially when a very heretic captain of the Swedish army crosses your path.  
  
 **Warnings** : Don’t smoke near the wagons with the gunpowder.  
  
 **Rating** : Up to NC-17  
  
 **Notes** : Believe it or not, but this story is a TPM AR story. It is set in Germany, in November 1632. It’s the Three Musketeers era aka The 30 Years War.  
  
 **Dislaimer** : Since it’s meant to be a Star Wars fanfic, the counterparts of Captain Kai von Innow, scholasticus Benjamin Kenneberg, Captain Markus Winter and the batman (in the old sense of the word: the servant of an officer) Alexander belong to Lucasfilms.  
The Emperor (Ferdinand II of Habsburg); Gustavus II. Adolphus, King of Sweden; Johan Georg, Elector and Duke of Saxony; Bernhard, Duke of Saxony-Weimar; General Wallenstein; the officers Bucqouy, Mansfeld, Tott, Holt, Colloredo, Isolani are historical persons.  
All other dramatis personae I thought up.  
  
 **Thanks to** : Many thanks to my brave beta reader Tem-ve who stayed with me through this story – a story that became much, much longer than I thought when we hatched this bunny in October 2005 (!) during a lunch in Cologne. **Thank you, Tem!**

*******

**The 17th century paintings used in this story came via Wikimedia Commons and are public domain {PD-old}, {PD-art} – I hope that’s the right way to quote them.**

  
  



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